


Not All Treasure

by ElvenSorceress



Series: Not All Treasure [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Body Worship, Bullying, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Drowning, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Flashback, Flint/Miranda flashback, Gap Filler, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Making Love, Masturbation, Medical Inaccuracies, Minor Violence, Morning After, Morning Sex, Murder, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pining, Pirates, Praise Kink, Rescue, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Slurs, Storms, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-15 16:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 84,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver's been captivated by Flint since the moment they met, and Flint craves reprieve from his loneliness and broken heart. Their intense attraction becomes one sexual encounter after another, but their drive for Spanish gold pits them against the crew and close brushes with death remind them that all they have is each other. </p><p>Or, canon as we know it if Flint and Silver were in a sexual relationship shortly after meeting. </p><p>*compilation of the Not All Treasure series*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coastal Sand

**Author's Note:**

> I decided I hate having all of this in separate entries, so here is the whole thing with a brand new chapter. Happy Season Three! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After stealing the Urca's schedule and incurring Flint's wrath, Silver hopes to convince the captain of his value while satiating his growing interest in the man.
> 
> Set at the end of episode 1x04

Some people were easy to win over. They believed warm smiles and agreeable words, flattery and praise, support and shows of devotion. They wanted to trust others and would manufacture it even in the face of terrible odds. 

They wanted to believe someone cared about their pain and anger as much as they did. It made them trust sympathy. To them, innate goodness, pure hearts, and unfailing loyalty were reality. Something truly attainable. 

Those who had lost their faith in humanity would never be won without a bloody fight to the death of everything they had experienced, believed, and been taught. They had been wounded so deeply and permanently that it turned them ruthless and unyielding. If a man was turned to stone, he wouldn’t trust anyone. Or anything. 

He knew Captain Flint was stone, but it wouldn’t stop Silver from trying to earn something besides enmity from him. He had to. Warnings about quiet rage were far more prudent than fear of something loud and out in the open. It was easy to gauge the extent of something you witnessed; there was no telling how horrifying something unknown and unseen could be.

The cleaver landed in the sand, and Silver looked up to the captain standing over him, blood splattered on his face. “Billy and Morley. That night on the ship. What were they talking about?”

After all of Flint’s hostility towards him and all the assertions that he trusted his crew and would never trust Silver, it was interesting how quickly Flint seemed to doubt his own words. For a moment, Silver was almost too shocked to respond. “Well, I didn’t hear much. But it sounded like they were talking about a woman,” he offered. Carefully. “Somebody Barlow.” He wasn’t about to believe it could be that simple to make the captain trust him. But this was something.

Flint turned, looking off in a different direction, but he didn’t walk away. His whole body seemed rigid and confined. Was it a rush of jittery tension from nearly being crushed by his own ship? Silver’s own pulse was still running a little too quickly after that incident. Or maybe Flint was concerned about the fact that the whole crew was still whispering secrets surrounding Singleton’s almost-captaincy. It could even be the uncertainty of their upcoming search for the Urca de Lima.

Whatever it was, Flint had done nothing but pour over maps, chart courses, and read documents Silver imagined he’d already read a hundred times. All day long. And while offering curt but specific cooking instructions. He’d pause to stare at nothing, and it was obvious there was something strung in him that kept him from relaxing for even a moment. Even when he was more or less alone and unnoticed. 

Everyone else had either been working on the ship’s hull, taking a break to drink or fuck while they could, or preparing for the hunt they’d soon embark on. No one else paid attention to the captain. Maybe he preferred it that way. Maybe it was part of the problem.

Every man had a weakness. Cold, hard exteriors always had cracks to slip through. No matter how thick and impervious they seemed to be. And Silver was an expert in being slippery. He’d be dead a few hundred times over were it not for his ability to make himself invaluable.

“Is she your wife?” he asked Flint’s back, hoping the momentary lapse in animosity would keep the captain from shutting him out. Or shooting him. “Or lover?” There were all kinds of stories circulating amongst the crew. Anything from the Barlow woman was a magical, demon witch who was even more bloodthirsty and evil than the most feared pirate captain to an adulteress Flint had an affair with to a family member he’d rescued from an abusive husband or political assassins to a siren who fell in love with him because her songs could never touch his heart. Either because his heart didn’t exist, because he’d given it to someone else, or because he only loved men. 

Sailors and pirates alike were enamored with stories. There was no telling which parts, if any, were closer to fact than fantasy. He doubted the captain would volunteer such information. 

Flint looked back to him with about as much openness as expected. Mainly, none. But his gaze traveled over Silver’s body and caused a shiver to ripple like waves over his skin. “No,” Flint answered, simply, quietly, then went to the water and splashed it on his face and hair. 

It was hard not to watch him. If he was anywhere nearby, Silver had to force himself not to stare. There was so much he didn’t know and so much he wanted to know. Not to mention how if he didn’t figure something out quickly, he likely wouldn’t live much longer.

If the memory of Singleton’s bloody, beaten corpse wasn’t enough, he still had bruises on his own body from being shoved against jagged rocks. He’d felt the anger in Flint’s whole being. The power of that fury was undeniable. Intoxicating. He knew there would be no such thing as mercy if Flint so chose. And yet, he rather liked how those bruises felt now. 

The ache, the soreness, the memory of being crushed with heat and power and Flint’s strong body made Silver wish he’d earned those bruises in an entirely different way. 

It should make Flint that much more terrifying, and Silver was respectfully, sincerely scared of what would happen if he failed to become valuable. But then he also couldn’t stop watching and wondering about everything that lay beneath the captain’s surface.

The dark ferocity had to be part of the attraction, but it was far from the only one. On some level, even though it was likely next to impossible, it seemed he still wanted someone he could trust. And it was obvious that the only person he might trust was not a member of his crew. 

After Flint washed away the blood, he retied his hair and returned to his open tent where he sat down heavily and pressed the temple on one side of his head. Except for slow, measured breaths, he remained unmoving. 

The sunlight would fade soon, the late afternoon sky was already turning golden as it did before it darkened. The bloody cleaver should be washed as well because no one needed to be reminded of what it had last been used for. 

What would have happened had he not offered Flint such a solution? Would Flint really have let himself be crushed? Was his show of saving Randall simply a way to make the crew believe he would rescue any of them if also given the chance? Could it have been sincere, that he genuinely cared?

Silver looked back at the food and dug through the tools he’d been given until he found a suitably clean bowl. He filled it with everything he knew tasted good, mostly oranges and the roasted pork, which turned out quite well the second time thanks to Flint’s guidance. The meat was tender, smoky, slightly sweet, and he couldn’t help wondering how Flint had learned. It didn’t really make a difference either way. But it was unexpected. He had a feeling there was a lot about Flint that would be unexpected.

He approached the captains desk and held out the bowl. “You’ve been sitting here all day and I haven’t seen you eat anything.”

Flint looked at the food as if it was a weapon not necessary sustenance, and then questioningly, cautiously at Silver. But he accepted and set it down on his table without a word. 

When Silver walked away, he felt the gaze following him. Heat swam through his blood, but he worked to ignore it as he went to cut up the remaining meat into smaller sections that could be stored. Any time he glanced in the captain’s direction, that gaze was still on him. And miraculously, he ate and didn’t spit it out upon the sand. All of which Silver would count as a victory. 

He took the opportunity to gather bowls and utensils that needed to be washed and went down to the water. Before he got to work scrubbing, he pulled off his shirt and splashed his skin with cool water, then washed everything, including the cleaver, and strolled back to his roasting spit. 

He busied himself for a while, putting away the tools, stoking the fire, cleaning up as the sun set and turned the sky orange and purple. When he turned and looked toward the captain, Flint quickly looked away. As if he’d never been looking. As if, maybe, he’d been looking too closely. 

That was just too good to pass up. Flint looked _hungry_ like he hadn’t been satisfied in ages. It only made Silver want to be the one who did that much more. He ran a hand through his hair and strolled over. The bowl of food he’d brought Flint was empty except for a few scraps and peels, and Silver gave him a winsome smile. “Anything else you need, Captain? If you desire more, I would be very willing to provide it.”

His eyes narrowed but they trailed over Silver’s bare torso and held something far from animosity. “What is it you imagine I need?”

He sidestepped the table and leaned against it near Flint’s chair. “I can imagine quite a lot of things. And I’d be happy to tell you all of them in detail. Starting with something that might relieve the stress a captain takes on while running a ship.”

Flint gave him a harsh, disbelieving laugh, but it was a laugh all the same. “You think naked skin and some innuendo will sway my opinion of you? What makes you think I would even be interested in listening?”

Silver bit back a smirk. “In my experience, men who recognize another man’s naked chest and an offer to fulfill his needs as flirting are at the very least open to suggestion.”

“You’re not exactly subtle.” Flint’s fingers ran over the beard at his chin as he stared hard at Silver like he was trying to uncover motive beyond the obvious. Was it long enough that it felt soft? Did it prickle or scrape when rubbed against skin? The color was so striking and Silver itched to touch it. “If you think whatever depraved form of sex you’re imagining would prevent me from ending your life, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Believe me, I had no such misconceptions. I have, however, noticed you carry quite a bit of tension and resentment, which can be very detrimental to one’s ability to focus.” He leaned down to whisper, “I would be happy to help alleviate your frustrations.”

Flint tilted his face up, close enough that it wouldn’t take much to press their mouths together. His eyes were dark with only a thin rim of color around the deep black pupils. “Put your clothes on and get back to work.” But his voice lacked force and conviction. 

Silver wet his lips with his tongue and watched Flint’s gaze fall to his mouth. “I don’t recall you ordering Billy to put his shirt back on. As you might guess, I’m very good with my mouth. And if I’m sucking your cock, it would keep me from talking. At least for a while. Is there really a downside to this?”

He was sure Flint wanted to say yes, there was a downside. Most likely the downside being that it was Silver and not someone else. But even from here, he could tell by the way his trousers were stretched across his groin that Flint was hard. And they’d been watching each other most of the day. Most of the last few weeks in fact. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Flint wanted him.

Silver moved a little closer, enough so he could speak the words with warm breath on the captain’s ear. “When was the last time someone made you come? Because it seems like a very long time. And I’d love to change that.”

Flint gripped Silver by the arm and abruptly stood. 

Silver’s pulse rushed, ready to infuse him with terror or the thrill of victory. Though there wasn't a huge height difference between them, it still felt as if Flint towered over him. Dark eyes looked him over, as if Flint were weighing the decision in his mind, but his grip never loosened and he didn't let go. 

Silver shifted, just a little, so Flint could feel the heat of his body. Being this close and almost but not quite touching was making him dizzy. Was it the same for the captain? 

Flint let go as quickly as he'd captured Silver and stalked away.

It wasn't like he thought Flint would easily give in, but disappointment fell heavily. Did Silver already want him that much? He was intensely captivating. Powerful. And the desire was clearly mutual. Silver would just have to keep trying. 

Before he made it very far, Flint stopped and turned back to look at him. “If you're not following, there's no point in my going.”

Or maybe what he tried had been enough. He hurried after Flint and up the beach to a smaller tent away from the ones set up for the crew. Flint pulled the ties on the thick canvas walls so they fell closed and it was just the two of them secluded from the world. 

Silver grinned and moved to kiss him, but Flint covered Silver's mouth with a hand and stopped him. With his other hand, he pressed down on Silver’s shoulder until he went to his knees on the floor made from layers of cloth. 

Silver rolled his eyes. “Fine. I won’t kiss you, but please come lie down.”

With a sigh that held more annoyance than it should for someone who was about to receive an orgasm, Flint sat down beside him and pulled off his boots. He even set aside the knife and pistol at his belt before he leaned back on both hands. 

Silver removed his own belt and shoes so that he could move freely then placed a hand on the center of Flint’s chest. He pushed Flint backward gently — for his own sake far more than for Flint’s. Nothing sudden, nothing overtly aggressive, and then hopefully, Silver would remain in one piece. 

Flint lay back on the blankets that covered soft sand, watching Silver closely. Possibly so that Silver wouldn’t try to attack him. Which was ridiculous since Silver had no interest in fighting, Flint had an overwhelming advantage in that area, and there were far better activities to engage in. More likely, he hoped, Flint watched him because he wanted to. 

Silver leaned over him, one leg wedged between Flint’s thighs. He tugged the dark shirt loose from Flint’s trousers and pushed it up until he uncovered bare, freckled skin. Excited, fluttering heat went through him. How was it possible Flint was letting him do this? How was he fortunate enough to have this man spread out before him, welcoming his touch?

He ran a hand over Flint’s stomach and up to his chest, then pressed a wet, open mouth kiss just above his navel. His skin was warm and tasted salty, and Silver wanted trail his tongue over every bit of it.

“You know this isn’t exactly what you said you wanted to do,” Flint said, voice low and dark.

Silver looked up at him through long eyelashes. “I can't take my time? Are we feeling impatient?”

Flint glared without real anger and then took Silver’s hand and moved it down between his legs. It made Silver suck in a sharp breath. His cock was long, thick, and painfully hard, and it made Silver ache with how he wanted. He pressed down and rubbed through the fabric and was rewarded with Flint rocking into his touch. 

Silver grinned, torn between teasing and just devouring him immediately. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to keep Flint from what he wanted, so he’d have to save the teasing for a time when he was confident that his life wouldn't be ended for doing it. He pulled open Flint's trousers and tugged them down his hips to the middle of his thighs. 

Flint’s cock sprung free, and Silver caught it in his mouth and swirled his tongue over the head. It wrung a delicious, strangled curse out of the captain, so Silver had to try it again. 

Flint grasped a fistful of Silver’s hair and tugged a little too hard. 

Silver held both of Flint's hips down and moved away from his cock. “If you hurt me, I’m stopping.”

The grip loosened until it was a warm hand simply cradling the back of Silver's head. “Wasn’t trying to.”

That, like the fact that Flint knew how to cook, was also unexpected. If he had laughed and hurt Silver anyway or just let go and said nothing, it would have been more in keeping with the image of the most heartless, cruel pirate captain to sail all the seas. 

Silver rubbed his thumbs over Flint’s hipbones and placed another kiss low on his stomach before he closed his mouth over Flint’s cock and sucked the sensitive, delicate skin. The muscles beneath his hands tensed and the hand in his hair gripped again, but didn’t pull. So Silver took more, sliding down and hungrily sucking. 

It made Flint’s breath fall in heavy pants that Silver could listen to for hours. How much did Flint want him? Was he flooded with longing? Did it make him forget everything else? Even just for a few moments? 

Silver opened his throat and took as much as he could, wanting to feel as much of Flint’s cock as possible. With his mouth full, he moaned and more curses left the captain. Giddiness bubbled through Silver's chest. The fact that he could reduce Flint to this? The fact that he was the one making Flint feel this? He only hoped this wouldn't be the one and only time. 

Silver pulled off and traded working the end of Flint’s cock with his hand while he sucked patches of skin along his length. 

“You're a fucking tease,” Flint growled, plainly trying not to writhe and give away how affected he was. 

“You haven't seen me tease," Silver said with an obvious, filthy rasp as he massaged and lightly tugged on the captain's balls. He licked the fluid leaking from the tip of Flint’s cock, savoring how he tasted. “I’m being incredibly generous.”

Flint lifted his hips, seeking more contact. “Finish it. I need…” His words trailed off as if he loathed to speak them. 

Silver stroked him slowly, enjoying the feel of hard, heavy flesh in his hand. “What do you need, Captain?”

The hand still in his hair tightened. “I need you to fucking finish it.”

Silver rested his forearm across Flint’s lower abdomen and rubbed his fingers over the soft dusting of faint red hair. With just his lips and tongue, he worked Flint’s cock, letting it push into his mouth a few times until he finally let the whole length slide in all the way. 

The sound of something very close to a whimper left Flint and he gripped the arm draped across his stomach. 

Silver slid off and then took him again, bobbing his head, holding Flint down as best he could, which was really far from something within his capabilities. But he greedily took every gasp, every inch, every drop of bitter salt until he finally won a hot burst on the back of his tongue and the most fearsome pirate captain falling apart underneath him. 

Silver swallowed and kept sucking, prolonging every second of pleasure. When Flint relaxed bonelessly into the sand, Silver crawled up and draped his body over the captain. He rested his chin in his hands and smirked as he watched Flint catch his breath. He swore he could feel the hard beat pulsing through Flint’s chest. 

After a moment, Flint gripped Silver and rolled him onto his back in one swift movement. Silver sucked in a sharp, hitched breath. His heart rushed helplessly fast. 

Flint ran one hand down Silver’s bare chest, down his stomach to the front of his trousers. "Just in case you had the idea that I was going to owe you.” He undid the buttons and shoved his hand underneath Silver's clothes. Rough, hot fingers closed around Silver's cock and tugged. 

All the breath left Silver’s lungs. His back arched, he pushed his hips up for more, and he gripped a fistful of the loose shirt Flint wore, then forced himself to let go because he’d much rather grip the dense muscles of Flint's back. 

Everything was suddenly too heated. Flint wasn’t tentative and definitely didn’t bother with preamble; he took and pumped Silver quickly. And right now, Silver was ready to give him anything and everything he wanted. As long as he didn’t stop. 

His eyes fluttered as he grew dizzy and lost. He struggled for breath, digging his fingers into Flint’s back. All the air Silver managed to take in smelled and tasted like Flint. 

Moans and whimpers were drawn from him until Flint’s free hand came up and covered Silver’s mouth. A much more gentle touch than he ever would have expected or imagined Flint to be capable of. There was something like amusement in his eyes as he chided, “You are a noisy little shit.”

Silver touched the hand and moved it from his mouth long enough to retort, “Honestly, did you expect anything else?”

A grin outshone Flint’s usual scowl, and Silver stretched his chin up, hoping Flint would cover his mouth with a kiss rather than a hand. But Flint pulled back and twisted the end of Silver’s cock so it dripped over his fingers. Silver threw his head back with a choked groan. 

He squirmed, overtaken with heat, and Flint just watched him. As if he was unable to tear his gaze away. Until he bent down, hinting at what it would feel like to cover Silver with the weight of his body, and flicked his tongue across one of Silver’s nipples. 

It was too much, or maybe it was just enough because he already knew that only this would never be enough, but he couldn’t help it. He cried out and spilled over Flint’s fingers, jerking under Flint’s hold, quaking with the blissful release that claimed his body. 

It was over far too quickly, and he wouldn't try to fool himself into thinking shared pleasure would change something between them. Still. He couldn’t remember feeling that good in ages. Being thrown to… he didn't even know how many whores was fun and everything, but truly wanting someone made all the difference. This was satisfying on every level. He could just imagine how good it would be if he could get Flint to fuck him.

He cleaned himself off with the edge of a blanket, tucked himself back into a comfortable position in his trousers, and tried not to think about how much more he wanted. Hopefully, there would be other times for it. 

Flint also fixed his own clothes, put on his boots, and retrieved his weapons. It had grown dark outside, and with no firelight, it was difficult to read his expression in the shadows. “Stay here and rest if you want. I'll make sure no one disturbs you.” Just like that, Flint pushed through the fabric walls of the tent and was gone. 

Silver stretched out on his back and tried to enjoy the languid warmth that remained. 

He was very good at sucking cock, but was that really enough for Flint? He’d already had to damn near throw himself at the man just to win this much. Maybe Silver needed to put it out of his mind. It wasn’t as if no other men here would have him. 

Billy was certainly gorgeous, though he didn’t seem the least bit interested. Not in anyone really but especially not in Silver. Logan was foolishly, absurdly in love, and Silver had genuine pity for him. Joshua was also gorgeous but very intent on being terrifying and intimidating, which wasn’t exactly what Silver wanted from someone he had sex with. 

Dufresne seemed like an easy mark, but there was something off about him that Silver couldn’t quite place. The man was just a shy, bookish account-keeper, but it was prudent to be wary of anyone so quick and intelligent. Joji was attractive but focused like Billy and far too enamored with his weapons for Silver to feel comfortable approaching him. Crisp and Froom fucked each other when they felt the need to, but there was no part of Silver that wanted to put himself in the middle of a potentially lethal triangle. 

There would be someone else, and for the moment, his priority was obtaining an ample share of Spanish gold. Anything else was excess, and not strictly necessary. Except for the foreseeable probability that Flint still wanted him dead, and Silver needed some way to remain in his good graces. 

He’d have to worry about that when it came to it. For now, he took advantage of the quiet privacy he’d been given and attempted to rest without any dreams. 

Rough hands and metal being locked around his wrist woke him. Panic surged until he heard Flint's voice in his ear. Even though it should not, in any way, be a comfort. 

“Get up. Hurry.” 

He’d love to believe that he was being chained and dragged through town as part of some salacious game, but he wasn’t deluded enough to assume that would be the reason. “You wouldn’t happen to be willing to let me in on where we're going and why you’ve taken me hostage, would you?”

“The guns aren’t being delivered. We're going to get them. You are going to stay here.”

A straightforward answer was the last thing Silver expected. Well, maybe not the last thing. But it didn’t improve this situation. “I— why? What is the point of that?”

“Can’t have any pertinent information spilling out of your mouth while we’re taking the Andromache.”

Silver stopped walking and couldn’t help but be irritated at the presumption. It would only be true if it were exceedingly beneficial, and he knew that would not even be close to a possibility. Flint pulled him along and didn’t give him a chance to retort. 

They stopped in Miss Guthrie’s office where Billy and Gates were helping Randall lie down comfortably on a sofa. Flint took him to the end of that sofa and closed the open manacle on Randall's arm. “Not to mention Randall needs looking after.”

Silver glared at him. “How in the world am I supposed to do that? And you realize there far more places here where information could come spilling out of my head.”

Flint tested the manacles and found them not too tight, but not too loose. “Not if you’re chained in here. I won't risk losing valuable information in a battle that we shouldn't have ever had to fight.” Before Silver's futile anger could boil over, Flint added, “And you’re very distracting. You're staying here.”

That might’ve been nice to know under other circumstances. But it only barely mediated Silver’s vexation. “That isn’t my fault.”

Flint stood and left Silver there on the ground. “In this case, it absolutely is.” He left with Gates and Billy with no word on when they’d be returning. Though Billy promised that Miss Guthrie would find them soon enough. 

Silver scowled after all of them even though it wouldn't make any difference. 

Randall twisted his head back so he could look very intently at Silver. He smirked in a completely unnerving way. “You like Captain.”

Silver stretched his arm out so the shackles between them wouldn’t pull on either of them and then tried to get comfortable. “Not at the moment I don’t.” 

Randall chuckled to himself, closed his eyes, and settled into the sofa cushions. “You like Captain.”

Silver covered his face and wondered why he’d ever had the idea to steal that page.


	2. Dark Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eve of their hunt for the Urca, Flint faces confrontations and conflicts on all fronts and attempts to drink his feelings away.
> 
> set during 1x07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is an instance where the sex is a little too rough, but it's quickly amended and completely consensual. But just so you know. <3

Nassau appeared on the horizon, lit by the rosy clouds of sunrise, and brought only one thing to mind. One person. 

From this distance, anyone could look upon the port city and forget about the turmoil, the violent history, the dark threads that held it together. Anyone could look at it and see what he saw. The dream of what it could be. Self-sustained, peaceful, safe, and free. 

It would be worth it. Flint believed with all his heart and soul. After the last day chasing the Andromache, after the price they all paid last night, he just had to remember this image, this sunrise. His vision. Because the moment they drew closer, took longboats to the shore, and were immersed in the reality of how much further they had to go, anything that felt bright and hopeful easily drained out of him. 

When he and Gates walked through the door to Eleanor’s office, they were greeted with a wide, buoyant smile, and it definitely wasn’t from one Miss Guthrie. The last thing Flint needed was another disturbance to deal with, so he made a point to ignore the thorn in his side all together. Fortunately, Gates decided to order Silver to sit in the corner and shut up while they spoke with Eleanor. 

But he knew Silver watched him. Discretion didn’t seem to be in his arsenal. Flint didn’t want to think about how dangerous that could be. 

Why had he done it? Why indulge a man who had already cost him time, money, effort, and crew members? Having an excuse to dispose of Singleton wasn’t the worst coincidence in the world, but it didn’t make up for everything else he’d had to endure. Was it simply because Silver had offered and the lure of convenience and release was too good to pass up? 

It had been so long, years upon years upon years, and maybe the need and longing finally wore him into breaking. 

But of all the men he could have picked, what had possessed him to choose that one? The fear of embarrassment, judgement, or ridicule clearly didn’t exist in Silver. Perhaps that was the draw. Of course, Flint could list plenty of aesthetic reasons as to why Silver was intriguing, but that would require analysis and assessment, serious contemplation, and would lead to nowhere productive. 

The smug smile Silver wore as Eleanor pledged to defend him against Flint was enough to make him want to take back any remotely non-negative thoughts he’d had regarding the man. When they stepped out of the tavern and out of sight of her office, Flint backed Silver against the side of the building and pressed his forearm to the man’s throat. 

He wasn’t sure if fear, excitement, or arousal sparked in Silver’s eyes, but it irritated him no matter what it was. “Whatever you’re trying to trick her into believing,” Flint said. “It won’t work. I don’t give a shit what you did yesterday, and if she were being honest, she doesn’t either. If you believe she would stand between me and my killing you, you’re more foolish than I thought. If you never returned, she wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t even notice.”

The smile and the glowing charm were eclipsed. Replaced by something that might’ve been anger. “Did you miss the part where that whole arrangement was her idea? I chose to help.”

“Because you expect her to protect you from me?”

Silver actually had the audacity to seem affronted, as if he’d acted out of selflessness and not spite or opportunity for an advantage. “Because she needed help and asked for my assistance. And since someone chained me and left me in her office, I was not exactly in a position to refuse.”

“You expect me to believe that? You’ll say anything to ensure your survival.”

“I’m sorry, which one of us held up a blank page and lied to his entire crew over the body of a man who dared challenge him?”

Flint gripped Silver with both hands and crushed him against the building. “If the page hadn’t been stolen, I wouldn’t have been forced to do so. I know what you do to people. How you play naïve and charming and even turn yourself into a fucking whore to spare your miserable life.”

Silver tilted his head, affecting the coy demeanor he’d worn the day they left. “Do you have a problem fucking whores, Captain?”

Flint drew the sword from his belt and held Silver by the throat.

Silver’s eyes widened. He held both hands up in surrender, and his voice came out rushed and panicked. “Wait, wait! You know you still need the last of the schedule.”

He flattened the blade against Silver’s body. It didn’t make for an ideal position to use the weapon, but it caused tremors in the man pressed against him. “I’m familiar with those waters. I’ll make do without it.”

“Wait, please. I’m sorry.” His hands rested on Flint’s chest the way they had when they were alone that afternoon on the beach. As if there was care and consideration behind them. Maybe there had only ever been fear. Why would there be anything else? “I’m sorry. I helped her because she asked. You don’t have to worry; I have no intention of ever crossing Miss Guthrie. In some ways, she’s even more terrifying than you are. I wouldn’t hurt her. Please.” 

He assumed Flint’s anger was out of fear for Eleanor? There was no need to worry about her; she could take care of herself. But protectiveness was a better explanation for it than anything that was truth. 

A hand touched Flint’s shoulder. “Come on,” Gates said. “Now is not the time.”

He’d forgotten there was anyone else around. It was far too easy to get lost in the warmth emanating from Silver, in the cleverness of his words, the touch of his hands, the color of his eyes. 

Flint’s own touch had turned into something far from menacing. The sly softness of Silver’s words had brought the weapon to a useless position at Flint’s side. Their bodies were bowed against each other, Silver’s yielding where Flint’s was rigid. His hand was simply resting on Silver’s shoulder, thumb pressed to the hollow at his throat where the skin shone with sweat and begged to be tasted. 

Flint ripped himself away and sheathed his sword. The sooner they could rid themselves of that man, the better. He forced himself to not steal even one more glance at him as they joined their crew on the beach. He had too many fires to put out everywhere else. He couldn’t be bothered with another one. 

Gates should have known that. He knew more than anyone the reasons why Flint needed that gold. With the exception of Miranda and, to an extent, Eleanor. Why was murder the only possible explanation for what happened last night? 

It did keep secrets and suspicions from catching fire. A bitter contortion on fortunate. Heavy, jaggedness sank inside him, like stab wounds, shipwrecks, and blood spilling all over. 

Was that what Captain Flint was now? He hated the man who would ever consider death as a blessing. Not of someone who had been so abused and tormented. Someone who had never actually wronged him or anyone he loved. Was there anything left of James McGraw or had Flint murdered him as well?

He wouldn’t accept that. If there was one murder Flint hadn’t committed, it was his younger self. The man who killed Lieutenant McGraw died on the Maria Aleyne. When he’d argued self-defense, it hadn’t been as far from the truth as Gates believed. 

Why, after all these years, would Gates not believe in what Flint was trying to do? He knew Flint didn’t want the gold for himself. He wanted it to buy Nassau’s freedom and with it acceptance, refuge, sanctuary for anyone who had been villainized and cast out of “proper” society. Why wouldn’t his friend fight for that with him? How could anyone not believe in this vision?

How could Hal leave? How could he not want this? How could he just walk away? 

There was someone who understood and wanted redemption for Nassau as badly as he did, for the same reasons he did.

Most men who knew enough about Flint also talked about the mysterious woman who was never far from his side. Some were ignorant and susceptible enough to fear Miranda more than they feared Flint because of stories about witchcraft, Satan, and bloodlust. 

It had been years since he’d spent time with someone who didn’t believe he was in love with her. Or otherwise magically or sexually bound to her. In some ways, it was better, safer for everyone to believe such things. But whenever he had to tell those lies, part of him felt as trapped, lost, and humiliated as he had before he met the Hamiltons.

He couldn’t bear to think of her turning against him as well. Would she care if his own crew hanged him right on Nassau’s waterfront? Was that what she wanted? To be rid of him? 

It couldn’t be possible. He wouldn’t believe it. He needed her. He had to trust her. She was all he had left. But the words she spoke wounded him more than anything had in ten years. 

What does it matter now. 

Had she stopped loving him? Had she found a way to remove him from her heart? How? How could Thomas not matter to her anymore?

Holding on hurt her. Flint knew it did because he felt the same every moment of every day. But he could never be the husband she’d loved and lost. There was no way for Flint to even come close. He wasn’t the man who saw goodness in everyone, who looked beyond the misconceptions on the surface, the assumptions people made, the words that turned people into monsters that needed to be eradicated. He wasn’t the man who fought on behalf of the misfortunate. The man who was ferocious in his kindness, generous with his love, and so full of bright hope and intelligence that his light would never be extinguished.

Flint wasn’t what she needed. He never could give her the life, the music, the joy, the peace that she wanted. Even if he managed to find the Urca, take the gold, restore and free Nassau, he wasn’t capable of love anymore. 

He would never take a pardon. He would never betray what Thomas had given him. Forgiving those who destroyed them would never happen. 

After fighting with Miranda, there was nowhere for him to go. If Gates was any indication, then his crew all believed that Billy’s death had been a murder Flint committed out of whatever petty, cruel reasons they conjured up this time. There was no safety or respite with Miranda though she was right in her assertion that life, joy, and love were absent from both of them. He wasn’t sure when she felt it disappear from her own being, but he knew when it had been torn from his. 

Since he promised he’d report back to Eleanor, that was his best option. Somehow, he wound up with a mug and a seat away from everyone else in her tavern instead. 

Hard liquor never used to hold much appeal. It still didn’t. But the allure of becoming numb and pleasantly warm inside was stronger than his hate for losing control. He’d already lost control. 

Flint had seen thousands of men die. He’d been personally responsible for at least a comparable amount. Yet, this was the one that kept running through his mind. They bore the brunt of the crashing waves. Cold ocean soaked through his clothes. Lines were cut and the Andromache’s spritsail brace set loose. Cannon fire exploded across the deck, rang in his ears, shook and broke through his ship. 

Then there was a hand in his. The weight of a young man strained his arm and rent the whole side of his body. His ribs were crushed against the rail. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. But the young man was kept alive only by the grip they had on each other.

And then it was gone. 

For a moment, Flint didn’t think of anything else. His first instinct was to turn back and save the man in the water. But Gates’ voice had been in his ear. They couldn’t turn back to retrieve him and keep fleeing for their lives. They had to leave him to the waves. Flint had watched the dark water. There was nothing. No sign of him anywhere. They had gone too far.

He hadn’t made the decision to leave Billy to his death. The guilt that Gates had over choosing it wasn’t Flint’s fault. 

He didn’t know why Miranda put up with him when it was clear he made her miserable. Her husband would have fiercely defended her happiness. He would have forgiven her if she deemed Flint a lost cause, too far gone, and left him to face his fate alone rather than allow herself to be dragged down into despair. 

There was a time when two modest cupfuls was about all he could handle. He could barely remember it now. It was so long ago. When he finished a large decanter of rum, he started on another one. 

How could she think of a pardon and a life in Boston as a feasible option? What would be there for him to do but what he was doing right now? He lifted the cup to his mouth even though it had yet to keep him from thinking on all the things he hoped to forget. At this point, there was only one thing in his life that he ever wanted to remember.

How could he simply give up? How could he hope to achieve anything close to what they’d dreamed of? Would Thomas have given up in the face of these odds? He never would have committed the atrocious acts that Flint had. He was far more likely to offer up himself as a sacrifice than let anyone else perish. 

Flint attempted to take a long drink but found his mug empty. Everything was empty. He pushed himself up from the table, knocked the bench over in the process, and staggered along the walkway to one of the rooms where he knew full bottles were stashed. When he found one in the back of a cupboard, he sank to the floor in the corner and opened his new bottle. 

Shadows appeared on the floor, possibly in the shape of a person, and he thought of drawing a weapon. But what did he have to defend? 

His vision was blurred and his mind foggy, and all he saw of the man approaching him were the eyes that matched the color of the sky. His heart stuttered. It remembered being alive. 

The man knelt beside him and touched Flint’s bent knee. “Captain? Are you injured?” He looked down at the bottle in Flint’s hand. “Or have you gone for a swim in a sea of rum?” His hair was dark, falling in curls, and he smelled of citrus and spices. Silver.

The momentary hope in his heart turned into a gaping wound that had been ripped open. “What the fuck do you want.” 

“The crew sent me to find you. Actually, they wanted someone to find you and after the day I had with them, I eagerly volunteered.”

Why now? Why at all? “I’d ask why, but I can already tell you that I don’t give a shit. So why the fuck are you here. What do they want?”

“A few were concerned that Mrs. Barlow took you for a blood sacrifice. Or they presumed that she had to keep you with her all day because the crew are turning against you and now she has to call upon the devil come midnight so as to restore your power. They are now terrified of what you’ll be when you return to the ship.”

Flint rolled his eyes and drank from his bottle. “Let them be terrified.”

Silver watched him, looking over his face, trying to read him. “You weren’t really angry about Miss Guthrie this morning. You were angry with me. Or angry in general and I was an easy target to let out whatever happened last night that led to Billy’s death. And I think you were angry because you feel I seduced you just to get something out of you.”

God in heaven, why. He knew what he’d done to incur all manner of punishments, but why this? “What the fuck difference does it make? None of those things are reversible.”

“What made you angrier? The fact that I hoped you wouldn’t kill me if we fucked or that fact that we were together at all?”

“We weren’t together.”

“So you _are_ ashamed of wanting me.”

“I don’t—” He tried a deep breath before rage took over and he beat Silver to a bloody pulp. “The thing you’re talking about. You have no idea what it means.”

“I’ve faced my share of scorn for the choices I make regarding those who share my bed. Though I use the term ‘bed’ loosely. I’ll take it anywhere I can have it. I’ve been beaten and threatened and turned out on the street because of it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to fuck men and love doing so. I figure why deny or conceal it. There’s no point in being ashamed. It only makes you loathe yourself.” 

Flint let go of his bottle and made a grab for Silver’s throat so that he’d quiet and stop sounding so infuriatingly like a man he had no right to be compared to. But Flint ended up simply resting his hand on the side of Silver’s neck, fingers curved against the warm skin. “Just shut up.”

When he remained still and made no move to cause injury, Silver leaned closer and rested his forehead against the side of Flint’s. Any power Flint might’ve had to resist and turn away, he no longer possessed right now. 

Silver lightly placed a hand on Flint’s chest, so his palm was pressed to bare skin, and Flint couldn’t help leaning into him. He needed that touch. 

He shouldn’t allow it. He shouldn’t look at this man. Or be anywhere near him. There wasn’t a single thing trustworthy or honest about him. But there wasn’t a man alive who hadn’t turned on Flint in one way or another. What did anything matter anymore? 

He let his eyes drift to the severe blue ones in front of him. He bought his hand up until he could run his thumb over Silver’s lower lip. 

It elicited a whimper from Silver, but something so much deeper in himself. There had been nothing for so long. Only loneliness, only loss. There was nothing true, selfless, or genuine about this man. He brazenly tempted, flaunting himself for moments of pleasure. He couldn’t know how extreme the consequences could be. But why would he care? Silver didn’t care about anything that wasn’t himself. 

He was correct in one regard however. The desire never seemed to go away. Even when Flint knew better. He still wanted.

He held Silver’s cheek in his palm, feeling the shadow of stubble there. “Do you want me?” he asked quietly.

Flickers of light appeared in those blue eyes. “God, yes.”

“Go shut the door.”

Silver went quickly, closed and locked the door, and came to Flint as if he’d be welcomed into his arms. Flint stood and stopped him with a forceful hand to the chest, and then spun him around. He shoved Silver against the wall, squashing his face into the wood, and reached around him to pull open his trousers and push them down his legs. 

“I’m beginning to see a pattern here. You aren’t one for ‘small talk beforehand’ of any form, are you?”

Flint glanced around and snatched an oil lamp sitting nearby. “Unless you’re going to say something of relevance, keep your fucking mouth shut.” He dipped his fingers in the oil, kicked Silver’s legs apart, and slid his hand between them. He pressed one finger inside him and made him take all of it immediately. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Silver writhed and his hands scrambled for purchase against the wall. “That was completely relevant.”

Flint worked two fingers into him, stretching him as Silver made nonsensical, whimpering noises. He brushed against the smooth knot inside him and Silver jerked around until Flint caught him and made him hold still. 

He undid his own trousers, pulled out his cock, and pushed inside Silver, taking him, demanding what he’d been offered. He managed a few short thrusts, but the man flattened against the wall was tense, drawn taut all over. 

The pain saturated his voice. Silver begged as if he were brokenly pleading for his life. “Wait. Please.” It sounded hopeless, as if his pleas were inefficacious. “Please go slower.”

Flint had been ready to kill him more than once. But he couldn’t move. Wouldn’t. After everything Flint was, had been accused of being, after everything Silver had done to him… he shouldn’t care now. But he couldn’t hurt him that way. He didn’t want sex that was pained or forced or out of fear. He didn’t want to be used simply because of someone else’s needs. He wouldn’t make anyone else go through that. Even if he’d done it to himself. 

He changed the hold he had on Silver. Still there, still an arm wrapped around him, but simply cradling him. 

Silver relaxed in his embrace, noticeably breathing easier, turning pliant instead of tense. He held tightly to Flint’s arm as he sank back against him and sighed with relief. “That’s better. Thank you.” He rubbed the arm he held, leaving a trail of warmth on Flint’s skin. When Flint didn’t move, didn’t respond in any way, Silver turned his head so they could make eye contact. “You don’t need to stop all together.” He moved slowly, tilting his hips and pushing back onto Flint. “I want you.”

Flint rested his forehead on the back of Silver’s shoulder so he didn’t have to look at those soft, lovely eyes any longer. What was he supposed to do? Would Silver turn around and talk about how merciless Flint who gave no quarter was a myth? It wasn’t a myth, by any means. He would end anyone who crossed him. But who knew what Silver could convince people into believing. 

Flint’s hand was moved. Silver lifted it to his mouth and kissed his palm. There was warmth in his touch that made Flint ache and hate himself. “Please,” Silver reached behind him until he’d grasped Flint’s hip. “I want you to fuck me.”

It wouldn’t change Flint’s opinion of him. So what was the reasoning that motivated him? Because Flint highly doubted it was just the sex that Silver was after. But he knew what his own was. He needed something. 

He took a deep breath and shifted very carefully. With one arm he held Silver to him and with the hand that was still slick with oil, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Silver’s cock. Flint stroked him slowly, playing with the tightness of his grip, the twist of his wrist, the sensitive curves of the head, until Silver was fully hard and trying desperately to fuck himself on Flint’s cock. 

“Captain, please.” Silver sobbed and threw his arm above and behind him. He felt around, found where Flint’s hair was tied at the back of his head, and gripped it gently. It set a few locks loose to fall into Flint’s eyes but he didn’t itch to tie them back immediately as he normally would. 

He pulled out a little and rocked his hips forward, making sure he slid easily. Silver was warm; soft and hard, demanding and yet he turned to billows of silk under Flint’s touch. He would shove himself backward and plead at the same time. 

They worked up to a hard rhythm, but Silver didn’t grow taut and pained this time. He let out guttural gasps and long moans, crying out and clawing at whatever he could every time they slammed against each other. 

Flint closed his eyes and fought to stay afloat. All he could breathe was the smell of Silver’s hair, the scent of sweat clinging to his body. He wanted to taste the drops that beaded on his neck. He wanted to touch Silver everywhere. He wanted to figure out exactly how Silver liked to be touched, but he refrained. He couldn’t become so tangled in Silver’s nets. No matter how it felt. 

His body was slight but muscled and it was so good pressed against Flint. As if this way, they could fit together perfectly.

It wasn’t true. There was nothing true about this. 

It was one thing to let Miranda have use of him when she was hopelessly lonely and in such despair and needed to feel loved and connected to someone she cared for. Even though he was certain he never managed to do any of those things for her no matter how he tried. It was another to give himself to a treacherous rodent. Even though Flint was just as hopeless, alone, and in despair as she was. He needed something. Someone. But he couldn’t fall into that trap again. He couldn’t lose everything all over again. 

Flint moved quickly, thrusting hard and working his hand over Silver until he spasmed wildly, nearly howled, and thick spurts shot from him onto the wall in front of them. Then Flint took deep breaths and slowed but stroked Silver until he was sure there was nothing left for him to give. 

Silver sagged and braced himself against the wall for support. Flint withdrew and turned from him. He tucked himself away and fixed his clothes. And went to find the bottle he’d left on the ground. 

He took a long drink, longer than even he expected, and ended up emptying the bottle. When he went to the cupboard, he noticed Silver was standing still and staring at him. 

He looked away and found a new bottle. One of the sizable decanters that would hopefully last him a while. He searched for a mug so he had more control over the vessel he drank out of. It would be easy to tip the decanter all over himself if he managed to finish it. But there were no cups or suitable small containers. All he saw was Silver, with his trousers around his ankles, still watching him.

Silver’s voice was soft and lost, like he was genuinely confused. “What the fuck just happened?”

Flint looked away from him. There had to be something in the room that he could make use of as a mug, but it was just bottles, cupboards, a narrow bed, a table, unlit candles, a chest of drawers. “I fucked you.” It wasn’t as if it mattered. He sat on a chair near the wall and used both hands to steady the decanter so he could bring it to his mouth. 

“In a manner of speaking,” he said and sounded angry. “I didn’t feel you go limp and I didn’t feel you come. You just… stopped.” He pulled up his trousers but didn’t fasten them. He held onto them and knelt beside Flint. “Are you… did you need something else? Were you afraid of hurting me? Because I was fine. It was just when we first started when it was a little too fast. I don’t do this as often as you might think. But I loved how you felt.” He rested a hand on Flint’s thigh. “If there’s something else, I can do it. I’ll suck your cock again if you want. I don’t want you to— ”

“Stop.” Flint moved his leg away from Silver’s hand and fixed him with a glare. “Don’t pretend like you actually give a shit.”

Silver’s mouth fell open and for once, he didn’t seem to have anything to say.

Why did he seem so shocked to learn that Flint knew what his game was? Were the people he usually tricked truly that obtuse? Perhaps that was how Silver was successful. It wouldn’t work on Flint. “You got what you wanted. Get the fuck out.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted you.”

“To what? Feel something so that I wouldn’t kill you if given the chance? I told you my opinion of you wasn’t going to change just because we fucked.”

“That,” Silver pointed to the wall where they’d been. “Doesn’t fucking count. I know how you look at me. I know how you touch me. Even when you’re fucking pissed with me. I know you want me.” He stayed on his knees but lifted up and reached out. His fingers brushed over the side of Flint’s neck. “I want you. I want to feel that with you. I could be on your side if you let me.”

“Out.” Flint pointed to the door. He wasn’t going to be lied to. He wasn’t going to fall for the deceptive bullshit that Silver was clearly so good at. “Now. Get the fuck away from me.”

Silver sat back and looked absolutely dejected. But he stood, dressed, and left Flint alone. 

Once Flint finished the decanter, he left the room in search of more liquor. He didn’t feel drunk enough or numb enough. Why stop now? He collapsed near rather than sat at a table and held his head in one hand. 

There was pounding in his skull. Dizziness. Blurriness. He couldn’t think. He didn’t feel anything except absence. 

Why did he make Silver leave? Why wasn’t he here? He was warm and felt good and nothing felt like that anymore. It might be a lie. It was all lies. Silver feigned and offered words and touches that he knew Flint wanted, but it was all false. Meant to cause harm and cloud judgment. But it wasn’t nothing. Even if there was only deception. It would have been someone here with him. And he wouldn’t have been alone. 

Why did he do this to himself? What was the point in anything? He wasn’t Thomas. How could he hope to achieve what they’d wanted? It seemed Flint was only lucky enough that he could continue on and keep fighting. If being forced to fight tooth and nail for absolutely everything was luck. 

The sun must have gone down hours earlier because the firelight of candles had surrounded him for a while. A growing number of empty bottles surrounded him as well, but Eleanor didn’t seem disappointed. Only sad and concerned. He kissed her forehead and though she’d offered to let him sleep off his drunken stupor in the alcove of her office where she sometimes slept, he walked to the sofa where Silver had sat that morning. 

He lay down on the short bench as best he could and pretended he could breathe in the scent of spices, cooking fire, and acidic fruits that already clung to Silver. For now, that was all he’d allow himself.


	3. Lantern Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint and Silver agree to spend one night together. No more, no less. And then part ways once they obtain their gold.
> 
> set at the end of 1x07

Rejection was not as foreign to Silver as he’d care to admit. But he couldn’t recall experiencing one of this magnitude. He stepped from the room that smelled of sex, rum, and a certain pirate captain, and leaned against the wall beside the door. 

Silver’s body had been carved on. Touches seared into his skin, stretching every fiber and leaving behind reminders that twinged and burned and made him feel as if Flint were still there. He could feel how he’d been worked open and filled and brought over the edge into something blinding, rapturous, and maddening. And he remembered the arm across his body that held him upright and steady through all of it. 

There was violence in how Flint utterly closed himself off and denied them both. A painful hatred that couldn’t be born of animosity toward Silver alone. Something that deep that produced such inward loathing took years to create. 

Was he that horrified of his own desires? It could explain why Flint hadn’t or wouldn’t kiss him. Was it fear of betrayal? And so Flint chose to forsake Silver before Silver could turn on him? He had no intention of betraying Flint. They had the same goal and when it was accomplished, they’d go their separate ways. Silver thought he’d been up front about that. 

Was there something else? If they were on the verge of having more gold than anyone could have possibly dreamed of attaining, why was Flint lost in such misery? Wasn’t this what he wanted? What was the reason he’d been so destroyed? 

It didn’t matter. Silver didn’t care as long as the end result was a generous share of treasure to call his own. 

He looked back at the open door. And listened to the quiet sounds that came from the room. Gulping, swallowing, a gasp for breath, a thud of a bottle against wood. 

He knew what it was to have no one. When it came down to it, people were always out for themselves. Others could never be counted on. Being honest about it led to fewer disappointments so that was, for the most part, what he tried to offer others as long as nothing dangerous would be sent his way. But he understood what happened when the isolation became too much. 

He’d walk back through the door, but if Flint wanted to stay confined, Silver wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He brushed tousled hair off his face and started down the stairs. 

There were silhouettes near the bar, and hushed words in the darkness. Voices he recognized. Men he knew. Silver stopped and stayed in the shadows to listen.

“Though I must tell you he discerned that I knew about the missing page beforehand. He assumed Billy told me.”

The drama of the afternoon. Silver getting caught for stealing the page and narrowly avoiding being strung up by the crew. Dufresne was talking about him. Silver held his breath and swallowed hard. He might’ve escaped their wrath through Randall’s cover, but that didn’t mean their anger had abated. Were they furious enough to kill him anyway?

“I can see how he might think that,” Gates said.

“I did nothing to dispel that notion though it may not take him a long time to realize who it was who actually brought me into this.”

The revelation that Gates had been the one who told should have surprised him. But maybe it explained everything. Did Flint know? Was it that betrayal of trust that had sparked his anger and subsequent immersion in rum? 

An amorous couple stumbled down the stairs and bumped into Silver and the conversation grew too quiet for him to hear. He frowned at the people kissing who were, likely unknowingly, pressing against his back. He moved so that they would be unable to lean against him. They fell to the floor, laughed, and continued kissing. 

Even in the dim light of the tavern, Silver could see the way they exchanged saliva and slid their tongues against each other. Their lips were curved with grins as they met and stuck together. They moaned into each other’s mouths, sharing breath and drunkenly giggling at their own saccharine absurdity. 

It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. He could find anyone to kiss if he truly wanted that. Hell, he could walk across the street and pay for it if he wanted it that much. But winning a stupid kiss was nothing compared to what he truly wanted. Not to mention how there were far more important matters to attend to. 

Silver hid behind a post and tried again to listen for their voices. 

“Actually, it’s not Randall that’s troubling them,” Dufresne said. “It’s you. Having had some time to think about it, they’re not certain that you’re up to doing what’s necessary.”

A knot tangled in Silver’s stomach. Secret, whispered conversations about doing what was necessary rarely referred to banding together for joyous songs and celebrations over liquor, tea and crumpets, or naked bed partners. 

Though Dufresne’s voice was measured and level, the anger in it was plain. “The lying we could forgive. Singleton we could forgive. We could forgive all of it. But not Billy. That requires an answer. When the time comes, we need to know that you won’t stand in the way.”

A sickening twist churned in his gut. They couldn’t. Flint was vicious and terrifying, but they were his crew. How could they turn on him?

“I understand he’s your friend,” Dufresne said. “But once we have the money, Flint dies. No argument.”

Fear of someone else’s death had never struck Silver so thoroughly. If he’d been thrown to the sea, smashed upon the water, flung upon rocky coasts, it wouldn’t have felt as sudden or terrible as this. When they succeeded in obtaining the gold, it would be almost entirely because of Flint’s sheer determination, his knowledge, his drive, his relentless pursuit of this treasure. And they wanted to murder him after he won them unimaginable wealth? 

Who were they to rain judgement down on a man who was no more wicked or immoral than they were? They did follow his orders. They were all just as nefarious or pure as he was. Silver included. It didn’t mean he was heartless, cruel, or evil. 

For a moment, Silver had hope. The crew spoke of how Gates had been with the captain likely since he became a captain. The man might be gruff and unsympathetic toward Silver, but he had to have some loyalty and affection for Flint. Surely, Gates would put a stop to Dufresne’s petulant vengeance. 

And yet his answer was, “Not from me.” 

The words shouldn’t make Silver’s heart stop. They were using him to achieve riches just as Silver was. But Silver couldn’t imagine murdering him. How could they? He swallowed hard and turned his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He had to get out of here. If they found him listening, there would be no way he’d survive. 

Silver ducked behind a drunk man who passed him and stayed low as he moved along the wall. He hurried to the beach, back to camp, as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. 

If they succeeded in murdering Flint, he doubted he would live long after that. It was still possible that Flint would kill him as soon as he gave up the rest of the schedule, no matter the deal he’d made with Eleanor Guthrie. Flint’s rage knew no bounds even when it was directed inward on himself. 

Somehow, Silver still had faith Flint would be swayed and that he’d never end up on the wrong side of his sword. Flint could have wounded him in any manner of ways by now and he hadn’t. He even turned to Silver when he needed, and Silver suspected the need was far greater than something purely physical. He just had to stay on Flint’s side and make sure there was no doubt about where his loyalties aligned. For the moment at least. Until he was safe with his prize.

He found the tent with Randall, who was snoring lightly with a cat curled up next to him. The cat was probably going to be Silver’s responsibility now as well, which was astoundingly fantastic. With a sigh, he collapsed on a mat shrouded in darkness. 

His heart beat too quickly and too many thoughts spun in his mind. He’d never be able to sleep. All he wanted to do was warn Flint, and save himself in the process. There was no other way for him to obtain the gold he wanted and needed. But if he went now to tell Flint what he’d overheard, Flint would never believe him. 

What would convince him? Was it even possible? 

How would they do it? Would they attack Flint while he was sleeping? Turn on him during a battle? Create an elaborate setup to make it look like an accident? Would they simply shoot him and then it would be over? Flint would be dead and gone. 

What would Silver do then? 

He closed his eyes and tried to shut everything out, but it gnawed at him well into the following day. Every time he caught a glimpse of Dufresne and his men as they prepared for their voyage or Gates who was even more surly than usual, the knot in Silver’s stomach grew tighter. He had to avoid them. Or he’d just end up thinking about death and he really preferred to not. 

By the time it reached midday, Randall had taken to their new arrangement and used every spare moment to tell Silver how he needed to be in his bunk on the ship. Which meant Silver getting him there and also staying on the ship. 

When he attempted to explain that it was not yet time for them to embark or leave Nassau and that of course he would make sure Randall was on board before they left and that Randall knew perfectly well that it would be impossible for everyone to leave without Silver and therefore also impossible for them to leave without Randall. 

But Randall would have none of it. And took to shrieking until Silver went in search of someone who would take them to the Walrus without being noticed or missed. 

After he handed over the few small coins he happened to be in possession of to a man willing to row them out to the ship and then return to the beach, he was faced with hauling Randall up onto the ship all by himself. When he finally managed it and they were both standing on the deck, he saw the man above them near the rail, surrounded by the colored sky of the sunset. 

Flint held himself with regal poise like someone who had weathered untold hurricanes, wars, and disasters and lived to tell the tale. His hair was loose, fluttering in the wind and far more red with the fading light than it usually appeared. His jacket was absent, he bore only a sword and pistol rather than a complete arsenal, and he stared out across the water, but not out toward the ocean and their presumed treasure. Inward toward Nassau. 

What was it that made this place something Flint seemed more focused on than treasure? Was it someone there? Did he long to leave his life at sea behind him and return home? Was Nassau home for him? From what Silver knew of it’s history, it didn’t seem like a place anyone should want to call home. But perhaps it was. 

If what Flint was fighting for was the money to make Nassau a home for himself, wouldn’t that benefit the people who were turning against him because they also called Nassau home? Why were they so against him? Was it just his ruthlessness? Because from what Silver had assessed so far, Flint was much more rational and calculated with his aggression than a lot of people. His was more often turned toward people who had instigated the attack rather than an indiscriminate killing. 

The idea of him being cut down by people he cared for, ones he should have been able to trust… it made Silver wish that he had Flint’s trust just so he could defy everyone else. He wanted to prove them wrong. 

If they couldn’t see there was something extraordinary in Flint, something worth being afraid of yes but also worth admiration, perhaps even reverence, then Silver couldn’t believe they understood anything about the captain. He didn’t know Flint’s history or motives and couldn't predict the steps he planned because no matter how he tried, he was still surprised by Flint’s actions. So many things about him were not in keeping with the façade he wore. But there was undoubtedly a reason to be in awe of him. 

Perhaps that was the exact reason they wanted to get rid of him. The danger of being entrapped in someone like that could lead to paying an incredible cost.

Flint turned as if he knew someone was watching him. His gaze searched the ship but landed on Silver. And something about it changed. It wasn’t sharper or angrier, which was shocking in and of itself, but what was even more so was the fact that it seemed to hold remorse. Sorrow at the very least. 

Silver looked away first. If he stared any longer, he’d just want to go to Flint and he knew Flint wanted him to stay away. He pulled Randall’s arm over his own shoulders. “Come on. You wanted your bunk. Let’s get you to your bunk.” 

Randall was cooperative until they reached the galley and then he pushed Silver away, leaned on his crutches, and poked around in the stores of food. “Go away.”

He sighed. He could imagine it was difficult to accept help when you wanted to be able to do everything for yourself, but he’d hoped for something a little more appreciative. “After all that? Sneaking out of camp, bribing a man to bring us out to the ship earlier than we’re supposed to be, hauling your arse all the way up onto the deck, which I might point out was no easy task, then helping you down here, and you’re done with me already? Not even a thank you?”

Randall found a stash of jerky, somehow managed to sit on then lie down into a hammock, and stared solidly at him as he chewed on the dried meat. 

“Right, of course. You already did your part and kept us both alive. Why offer any gratitude.”

Randall’s eyes narrowed into something like a smirk solely with his stare. “You like Captain.”

Silver folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall of the ship. “I believe we’ve discussed that. Even if it were true, which it isn’t, the statement wouldn’t be in any way relevant to the present situation at hand.” 

Randall took another bite of his jerky. “Go away.” 

“Unfortunately, you and I are stuck with each other. So you’ll have to put up with me because, at the moment, I have nowhere else to go.”

“They say I’m the halfwit.” He shook his head as if he were disgusted. 

Silver looked at him. He was beginning to think Randall far from halfwitted. “If you’re suggesting that I go convince the captain, who by the way does _not_ regard me in the way you seem to believe I regard him, that he should be stuck with me instead of you, I have to tell you, I’m sorry, but I value my life.”

Randall only stared at him with annoyance. 

But the voice behind him stole all his attention and made him jump out of his skin. “For a man who values his life, you are exceptionally reckless with it.”

Silver stepped back from Flint and attempted to ignore the thundering in his chest. “And yet somehow, I still manage.” He gave Flint a wide, charming smile.

He expected a glare or some otherwise hostile expression, but whatever simmered beneath Flint’s surface was unreadable. “Why are you on board now?”

“Randall wanted to sleep in his bunk. I presumed because he’s still concerned that the crew is going to leave him on the beach when we depart. I’m beginning to doubt my assumption, however, as he is proving to be quite devious.”

“I need to speak with you.”

The absence of a harsh order or vicious threat was somehow more disconcerting. But Flint was still approaching him with something near civility. And from here he could smell the scent that clung to Flint’s skin. Silver sighed and looked to Randall who only reiterated his insistence that Silver leave, so he followed Flint up to his cabin, and waited for whatever threats or berating would occur. 

Instead of sitting down in chair, Flint remained standing near Silver. He breathed deeply, staring off at nothing before he finally looked Silver in the eyes. “You were right.”

A promising start and always nice to hear, but it had to be some sort of trap. “About?”

“I do want you.”

He let out a quick, huff of a laugh that only just made it past sardonic. “And you expect me to hold up my end of the bargain and finish you off after you threw me out and completely rejected me.” It came out much more bitter than he intended. Maybe it stung more than he expected. 

Flint stayed quiet for a moment like he was contemplating and choosing his words carefully. But the ones that came out were nothing like what Silver expected. “I’m sorry.”

Silver felt his mouth fall open and yet couldn’t remember how to close it. What the hell kind of strategy was this? What purpose would it serve? How could Flint have benefitted from it in any way? 

Could he truly mean it? Flint had seemed that destroyed, and he was clearly out of allies. But what could have possibly brought him to this? Was it guilt? Lust? Anger? Loneliness? “For whatever reason you may have chosen, I appreciate that you’re willing to give me those words. I can’t imagine you’re unaware that the desire is mutual.”

Flint said nothing, but waited as if he knew Silver would say more. 

He wanted to say the words, even if he knew the reaction it would provoke. There was still a chance that Flint might listen. Silver wanted that gold just as much as Flint did. Whatever sexual satisfaction happened to go along with it was a just an extra benefit. But none of it could work if Flint wouldn’t trust him. Even just a little. “But neither of us will gain anything if you shut me out.” 

He wasn’t sure if annoyance flashed in the storm in Flint’s eyes or if he was merely determining his next move, but when he stepped forward, instinct told Silver to stay out of his reach. 

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Flint pushed a chair out of the way. It clattered on the floor of the cabin with a hard, final sound. “I’m not going to let you in. You don’t deserve anything of me.” 

He stalked forward and Silver’s pulse raced. Flint’s presence was pervasive, and it ensnared him until he wasn’t sure if he should run in the opposite direction or strip naked and offer himself to the mercy of his captain. As it was, Silver merely stepped backward as Flint drew closer. 

“Had you not stolen from me and nearly destroyed what I’ve been fighting for the past ten years, I might’ve been more amenable to your presence.”

Silver’s back hit the wall and he had nowhere else to go. And Flint didn’t stop with any distance between them. He pressed the full length of his body against Silver’s and rested his hand on the wall near Silver’s head. “I also might’ve killed you on the spot just for the hell of it.”

Silver’s breath caught and left him with nothing but blood pounding in his whole body. Flint was terrifying, warm and hard against him, and the smell of his body, the way Silver could almost taste his breath and his lips… it sent Silver’s head swimming. 

“But I do want you,” Flint said, voice like rich, thick-poured molasses. “I keep thinking about having you. I like the way you feel.”

Silver wanted to move closer, he wanted to press himself against Flint more fully, he wanted to feel his strong, powerful body, he wanted to touch him everywhere, and he desperately wanted Flint’s mouth on his.

“If the information you’ve withheld from me is correct, by this time next week we’ll part ways, never to see each other again. If you still want to fuck me, then we’ll do this. Right now. One night. And then we move on. Does that sound acceptable to you?” 

He would answer, but Silver got caught between an enthusiastic yes and disappointment that it would only be once. It had already, sort of been twice, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of sex with Flint. But once more was much better than never again. “When you say if I still want—”

Half a menacing smirk curved Flint’s mouth. “You want to fuck me? I’ll let you fuck me. With two exceptions, I’ll let you do anything you want. Unlike some people, I _don’t_ have an exceptionally low tolerance for pain.”

Silver leveled a glare at him. “That isn’t fair.” Then the reality of the offer started to sink in and he couldn’t quite believe it. Flint wouldn’t possibly let him do that. 

The harsh arrogance left Flint’s expression. His eyes were softer and lacked the sharp edges. “I know. I’m sorry for that as well. It never should have happened.”

Where in the world was all this coming from? Was it supposed to be a serious solution? That they would somehow be rid of all the attraction they had if they simply gave in? It was’t as if they hadn't had sexual encounters before. There had to be a reason Flint wanted to put a limit on it. 

Like a mysterious woman who was surrounded by stories of more myth and absurdity than anyone Silver had ever heard of before. Flint may have told him that she wasn’t his wife or lover, but wouldn’t he want to conceal her identity and protect her at all costs if she actually was? 

Perhaps he was worried she’d learn of the male distractions he’d found while at sea. But that was what men on ships did. And most of them didn’t even consider fucking other men as something that counted at all in the grand scheme of whatever the fuck they considered to be sex that counted. Let alone something that qualified as infidelity or adultery. So they had no qualms about indulging in dalliances with shipmates. 

It was why Silver had chosen to throw his lot in with them rather than any other profession. It was far easier to seduce a man who was starved for sex and without the option of any women. Which wasn’t to say that Silver didn’t enjoy being with a woman, on the rare occasion that the opportunity and his desire were in alignment. It just happened that far more men captured his attention. 

He wanted someone powerful, strong, clever, in control but on the verge of losing that control, someone just shy of fatally dangerous, someone who could leave him in ruin and yet never would. It just happened that Flint gave him exactly that. 

But this offer of _I’ll let you do anything you want_ couldn’t be real. It had to be a trick or some kind of measure to see what Silver would actually do. Because Flint wouldn’t possibly give him free rein to do whatever he wanted. “Are you testing me? Allowing me to, theoretically, do whatever I want to you so that when I do something you don’t like you then have an excuse to kill me?”

Flint smirked and traced the lines of Silver’s neck. “I have plenty of excuses to kill you. I’ve had plenty of _chances_ to kill you. Unless you decide to raise a weapon to me, nothing you might do tonight will incite me to harm you in any way. If you do attack me, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Aside from that. As long as weapons aren't involved. You can’t hurt me. I don’t care what you do to me.”

There was something so lost about his words, about Flint’s whole demeanor for that matter. Did he want punishment? Did he want physical pain to mask whatever mental and emotional trauma he carried? Silver knew it was there. He might even know a few reasons why it existed. Was that what Flint desired from him? Quietly, he asked, “Do you want me to? Inflict pain and hurt you?”

Flint shook his head. “You can’t hurt me.”

He rested his palm on Flint’s chest. Over his heart. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Flint leaned down and pulled Silver into his arms. He placed a kiss on Silver’s jaw and it made everything inside him flutter. It might have only been twice, but he couldn’t remember Flint giving him any sort of touch like that. It only made him ache even more for the feel of Flint’s lips on his own. 

He turned his head, brushing his lips across Flint’s cheek, seeking his mouth. 

Flint let go and moved away. It left Silver suddenly feeling cold and fearful of another rejection. But Flint’s gaze stayed on him, lending warmth that drew Silver to follow him. 

Flint retrieved a glowing candle that sat on his desk and opened a door to what appeared to be a wardrobe at the side of his cabin. Instead of clothing, it held a wall of books and a mattress on the floor that took up most of the tiny space. It was clearly built for one but if they were going to be pressed together anyway, it would be large enough for two. 

“You have a bed? An actual bed?”

“It’s my ship. I wanted one.” Flint lit the lantern that hung above his bed and blew out his candle. The light cast a flickering glow and golden shadows over the little alcove, and bathed them both in warmth that was slight and secretive. Flint shrugged off his outer layers, shoes, weapons, belt, and set them neatly in a spot on a lower shelf that appeared to have just the right amount of space for each item. 

Silver did the same, but set his belongings in a space on the floor where the mattress didn’t reach. “I’m not complaining. It’s a nice surprise.” Oddly enough, out of all the places where he’d had sex, it had only been in a bed a handful of times. “When one spends most of their adult life on a ship, where it’s far more conducive to hurried encounters on hands and knees, over barrels, on the wooden deck, against the rail, against the walls…” He probably shouldn’t continue. Flint could easily change his mind and order him to leave. “You get used to not having a bed.” And since they did have a bed and a whole night, perhaps Silver would get to take his time to thoroughly and properly enjoy this. 

Flint rolled his eyes, but shut the door behind them and pulled off his remaining clothes. He tucked them away neatly, too, then sat on his bed and looked up at Silver.

For a moment, all Silver could do was stare at Flint’s completely naked body. He was beautiful, breathtaking, covered in freckles and thick muscles, a dusting of ginger colored hair that Silver knew was soft under his hands, and he ached to know more. The soft light lied about how vicious and brutal Flint could be but right now, Silver didn’t care. He wanted as much as he could have. He quickly pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed his trousers aside, then crawled up the bed to where Flint was. 

He would reach out and touch him, just to feel a hint of all that warmth and raw power, but forced himself to wait. As much as he wanted to, what he wanted even more was feeling how Flint wanted him. 

Flint’s gaze traveled over Silver’s body, over his face as if he were searching for something. Was he uncertain? He’d openly declared how he desired Silver. He hadn’t seemed at all shy or nervous about it the first two times they were together. He certainly touched Silver as if he knew exactly what he was doing with a man’s body that wasn’t his own. It was hard to believe someone who had been a man of the sea for so long hadn’t taken another man out of need or convenience at least a few times. Flint was hardly too virtuous or timid to worry about how they were both men, but he was convincing himself of something. 

When he met Silver’s eyes, he seemed to decide and rested his hand on Silver’s shoulder. He pushed and Silver lay down and gripped Flint’s back as the captain moved over him. Flint’s breath floated over his face and Silver tipped his mouth up toward Flint's. But that mouth latched onto Silver’s neck instead. Teeth grazed his skin and pressed down on his throat near his collarbone. Hard enough that it ended with his skin tingling from scrapes of beard and teeth, but not enough that it was painful. 

Silver moaned and pulled Flint down until he could feel their bare skin pressed together. He wrapped one leg around Flint, keeping the heavy warmth close. Flint’s mouth trailed over Silver’s body, leaving wet, red marks and nips, laving his nipples, licking his throat and collarbones. Every touch sent fire through him, burning straight to his cock. 

When he imagined how this would go, he figured something like the first two times they had sex. Either Flint would more or less ignore him and just accept a bare minimum of what Silver wanted to give him, with something quick and indifferent in return if there was anything in return. Or something fast and brutal that left him weak and barely able to move, but in a good way. Either would have been welcomed, though he did prefer longer sessions with someone who at least pretended to care about his pleasure. With someone he truly wanted to give pleasure to. Such an occurrence was exceedingly few and far between however. 

This kind of languid, focused attention where Flint took his time teasing him and coaxing helpless moans out of him was nothing like he expected. But it was everything he wanted. Everything he could have asked for. The question that remained, how would he be able to handle it without falling apart? 

Flint’s hands were large, possessive, and callused and they ran over Silver’s body as if they could claim him by touch alone. Silver’s fingers dug into Flint’s shoulders and arms and he wrapped both legs around his waist, but Flint wouldn’t let him grind their bodies together. Any contact he received to his cock was nowhere near sufficient. But Flint moved lower and trailed his tongue and teeth over Silver’s hipbone. 

The heat and anticipation made Silver squirm and tremble, and he flailed around for something to hold onto. Flint caught one of Silver’s hands and moved it to his head, closing it on a handful of dark auburn hair. Then his mouth slid over Silver’s cock and a loud, sobbing moan was ripped from Silver’s chest. 

Flint didn’t move, just held Silver’s needy cock in his mouth, and looked up at him as if he might stop and pull away at any second. 

Silver dropped his head back against a thin pillow. “There’s practically no one on board. How could anyone be around to hear me?”

Flint sucked just once and bright jolts went through Silver. But then Flint did nothing else and the muscles in Silver’s thighs quivered. That wasn’t fair. At all. He didn’t know how to not make noise. His grip tightened on Flint’s hair and he begged. “Please. I’ll keep quiet. I’ll try. I swear.”

Flint’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock and sucked more of him into his mouth. Silver covered his own mouth to stifle his groan. There was no question that Flint had done this before. He knew exactly what he was doing and it left Silver writhing and tied in knots and struggling for breath. 

Everything was too warm. He was flushed and sweating, and bit down on his own hand to keep from crying out, and Flint held his hips to the bed so he couldn’t thrash around. But there was a soft, wet mouth sucking his cock and every time Flint drew his lips over Silver’s aching flesh, his beard would leave faint prickles and tingling on his sensitive skin, and Flint sucked him like he demanded Silver’s release and it was far too much. 

The burst took him completely by surprise it was so sudden and so like a monstrous, crashing wave. But Flint didn’t seem as surprised. He slowed and drew off so he was only lightly sucking the very tip of Silver’s cock as if he wanted every last drop of him. He only stopped when Silver reached down and gently, weakly urged him to come lie beside him. 

Silver gripped Flint’s arm as he caught his breath and tried to regain the ability to move. This couldn’t be over yet. Flint couldn’t send him away. His hand stung from where he’d bit down on it, but he wouldn’t let go of Flint just to soothe the ache away. He wanted too much more to let go right now. 

He wrapped one leg around Flint’s hips as they lay facing each other and ran his hand over Flint’s shoulder, down his arm, over his chest, over the faint red line from where Singleton’s blade had slashed through his skin. Flint didn’t respond in any way, but he didn’t stop Silver either. 

Cautiously, Silver let his fingers drift over the light beard on Flint’s jaw and then threaded a hand through his hair, brushing a thumb over Flint’s forehead. That made his eyes flutter closed for a moment. 

Silver slid closer and kept lightly, slowly stroking his fingers through Flint’s hair and across his forehead as he whispered. “Did you mean it when you said I could do anything to you? Because I want to make you come. I want you to feel as good as you made me feel. Will you let me? Do you still want me?”

Flint breathed deeply and slid an arm around Silver. “I want you to fuck me.”

It was too soon for the thought to affect him in the way it normally would, because finding a man willing to let Silver fuck him did not happen often. And he so loved sinking his cock into a man knowing how he could make it feel, how good it felt giving in and being taken. He wasn’t quite ready to be so achingly hard again, but the fiery rush that stole breath from his lungs was there. The pulse in his chest was heavy and beating hard throughout his body, drowning him in longing. 

Did it show on his face how much he wanted even in the dim, shadowed light? He couldn’t give away everything. Flint could easily use it against him. He wasn’t sure how, but if it were possible, Flint would figure out a way. 

But how could he possibly keep his delight contained? Silver slid over him so he was loosely sprawled on top of Flint, and pressed his face into Flint’s shoulder. He breathed deeply and brushed his nose over the prickly ginger hair that trailed from Flint’s jaw down his neck before letting his tongue wet a patch of skin that he sucked into his mouth. A bright rush surged through him when Flint tipped his head back, offering more of his throat. 

Maybe that was why Flint had taken his time and teased Silver slowly with licks and sucks all over his chest and stomach and thighs. Because it was what he wanted as well. Which meant Silver would just have to test this theory. 

He nuzzled his face into the faint hair on Flint’s chest and traced the scars he could find with his tongue. Flint’s breaths were heavier and stuttered when Silver used his teeth to press into his skin, and when he bit hard enough to leave indentations, Flint gripped Silver’s hair and moaned softly. 

Maybe Flint liked something rougher and had been careful before so he wouldn’t cause Silver unwanted pain. Would Flint care about something like that? Did he feel guilty about rushing when he fucked Silver before? Why would he even care? Silver had been convinced that no matter what he said Flint wouldn’t stop or slow down. But he had. He’d have to make sense of it later because he could feel how hard Flint was and knew he had to dying for release. 

Silver pressed down and rubbed his slick stomach against Flint’s cock. He gripped and kneaded the muscles in Flint’s chest and arms and bit and tugged hard on his nipples. It made Flint arch against him and grip him like he didn’t want to let go. 

Silver grinned, beyond thrilled with the reaction. He so loved being wanted, but if that weren’t enough, seeing the marks of his teeth on Flint’s pale skin certainly was. How long would Flint feel those marks? How long would he think about every way Silver had touched him? 

It made Silver’s mouth dry. His heartbeat was heavy and dizzying, and his cock already ached again. He held tightly and nipped at Flint’s jawline. “Do you have something slick I can use,” he left wet kisses along Flint’s throat. “So I can fuck you?”

Flint reached up without looking and drew small bottle from a box on a shelf above his head. “This should suffice.”

Either he did this more often than it seemed, which was unlikely given how private Flint seemed to be, or the oil was something he used for himself. Images of Flint in here with his fist around his own cock, silently giving into his needs, were something that Silver would not forget any time soon. He moved to the side so he could find a good position but Flint also moved. 

He rolled onto his side with his back to Silver but turned his head so their eyes met. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Silver slid closer and molded himself to Flint’s back. He coated his fingers in oil and set the bottle back where it had been, used his other hand to sift through Flint’s hair, and gently pressed one finger against him. The muscle gave easily but Silver worked slow circles until he felt Flint relax into his touch. He rubbed his thumb over Flint’s forehead and his eyes closed again. 

Silver kissed his shoulder and wondered what Flint was imagining. Who he was imagining. It almost made him want to stop. He shouldn’t be jealous. It wasn’t as if he wanted to mean something to Flint. This, no matter how it seemed, didn’t mean anything. But the thought of fucking someone who wanted someone else made acrid, sour churns in his stomach. Flint should want _him._ At least for the moment. 

He hadn’t realized that he’d grown still until Flint turned so that his upper half was almost flat on the mattress but his hips and legs were still facing away. “Did you change your mind?”

Silver withdrew his finger and slid it in deeper. “Not unless you did.”

“No. And you don’t have to bother with that. I’m not fragile. You can just fuck me.”

For once, Silver was sure that wasn’t a backhanded comment about him. It was either all Flint had experienced in the past and therefore all he assumed he would receive or it was all he thought he deserved. And at the moment, Silver would guess the latter. He twisted his finger inside and felt around until he found the smooth, roundish gland that felt so good when touched. 

Flint tensed and drew in a sharp breath. His eyes were dark and hungry. When the hazy look faded, those eyes fixed on Silver. 

That Silver liked much better. He worked his finger in and out of him, brushing that spot on every back and forth movement. It made Flint’s expression contort and his face flushed as the intense, blissful feelings overtook him. It made him so much less guarded and so gorgeous. And his hand returned to Silver’s hair, gripping but not tugging. But right now, Silver wouldn't care if he did. He leaned in closer and wanted Flint to grasp him tighter. 

“My god. You…” Should he say anything? Would Flint make him leave again? Silver’s mouth felt dry and he licked his lips. “I love how this makes you look,” his whispered, hoping that Flint would ignore him if he spoke quietly enough. Or if he distracted Flint enough. He slipped a second finger into him and used both to slide against the spot that made Flint’s whole body tighten and tremor. 

Sliver moved closer so that his breath would ghost over Flint’s ear and down his neck. “If I kept doing this,” Silver slowly turned his fingers and curved them until he could add pressure as he rubbed. A deep, breathy gasp escaped Flint. “If I did nothing but touch you like this,” he licked the length of Flint’s neck and moved his fingers a little faster, then a little slower, just to feel how Flint tried not to writhe. “So all you had were my fingers here,” he pressed and held it for the length of three breaths. All the air sounded punched from Flint’s chest. Silver kissed the curve of his ear. “Could I make you come? From only this?”

There was no sound but Flint’s quiet, heavy panting, and Silver wondered if he was lost to the pleasure or a fantasy of someone else being the one to touch him. But Flint’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Yes,” he said softly, barely audible. “But you shouldn’t.”

Silver went still. This was it. Flint was going to send him away again. He rested his forehead on Flint’s arm. Why now? Why couldn’t they have this? It didn’t mean anything — he wasn’t imbecilic enough to believe it did. Was Flint reticent because it could mean something to him? It was hard to believe a man as powerful and gorgeous as Flint wouldn’t have had as many women and men as possible. But perhaps he hadn’t? “I shouldn’t?”

Flint shook his head. “You should fuck me.” 

His pulse skipped and Silver withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock, squeezing it a little harder than was comfortable just as a reminder that this should not end quickly. He pressed himself snugly against Flint’s back and held his cock as he pushed his hips forward and slid into Flint. It was warm and tight and like being engulfed, and he clutched Flint around his middle and rested his forehead on the back of Flint’s shoulder. “God, you feel good. So incredibly good.”

The sound of something between a derisive laugh and a snort came from Flint, and pushed back against Silver. “Then fuck me. I keep telling you and you still haven’t complied.”

“If you recall, you gave me permission to do whatever I wanted, and as such, I was enjoying having—-”

“Jesus Christ.” Flint turned, caught a large handful of Silver’s hair, and pulled his head up until their gazes were level. “If you’re under the impression that you're in charge here simply because your cock is in my arse, you are woefully mistaken.” His voice turned to a low growl that sent hot shivers down Silver’s spine. “ _Fuck me_ before I lose my patience and can’t take it any more.”

Silver swallowed hard and grasped Flint’s hip, and drove deep inside him. It made Flint’s grip on his hair loosen to something not so threatening and Silver kept going, building up to a steady pace, easily losing all thought except how much he needed. 

“Good?” he asked. It looked like Flint thought so. It felt like he did as well. Every time Silver pushed all the way inside him, Flint would tighten around him and shove himself backward like he wanted more. That alone was enough to draw fiery coils of heat through Silver’s cock. 

“Fuck.” Flint’s eyes fluttered closed and his head tipped back, ecstasy cresting on his features. “Yes.”

“Good. I want you to feel good. I want to feel you come from the inside. I want to lick your taste off my fingers. Off your stomach. God, I want you. I wanted you so badly.” The words spilled from his mouth and he couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t care either. All of his senses were bombarded with nothing but Flint. Silver was surrounded and saturated and all of it was his captain. Sweat slicked their bodies and made them move quickly against each other, and he held tightly as garbled moans and noises that might have been words when they started but not when they tumbled from his lips. 

A true, lively chuckle came from Flint in between his breathy pants. “You and your fucking mouth.”

“Can’t help it,” Silver gasped and thrust harder into Flint, his grip on control already slipping from his grasp. He moved Flint’s thigh and wrapped a fist around his heavy cock. He pumped him quickly and gave up trying to keep any sort of rhythm. Flint responded best when Silver fucked him hard, with hitched breath and sounds just on the verge of being all out moans, so that’s what Silver would give him. 

He felt Flint drawn tighter, ready to break under the strain, so he grasped a handful of his hair and tugged, and Flint was jerking and clenching against him, spilling through his fingers and moaning, not loudly but not that quietly either. A grin spread over Silver’s face as if he’d been supremely victorious. 

“Fuck,” Flint said and gripped the back of Silver’s thigh. “Don’t stop.”

Never had any intention of it, but Silver only lasted a few dozen rapid thrusts longer before he was sobbing nonsense and emptying hot bursts deep inside Flint. When he couldn’t move any more even if he wanted to, he sagged against Flint’s back and locked an arm around him. 

The bright heat faded too quickly and sweat cooled on his skin. They were so close to having their prize and going separate ways, but how could this be the last and only time he’d get to have this? And if Dufresne and Gates had any say in it, Flint wouldn’t live long enough for either of them to reap the benefits of their prize. 

Flint’s voice was low and soft when he spoke. “Are you satisfied now? Did that one count?”

Silver swallowed and nodded, and didn’t trust himself to talk. The thought of a world without this man brought images of darkness. Silver didn’t know what that meant and didn’t want to think on it, but if they were going to survive this treasure hunt, he needed to hold on and not let go. 

Once Flint’s breathing returned to something slow and normal, he moved his hips so Silver’s softening cock slipped out of him, cleaned himself off with something that might've been Silver's shirt, and then looked back at him. 

Silver loosened his grip around Flint’s chest. “Are you going to make me leave?”

Flint’s gaze traveled over him and then he moved to reach for something at their feet. He drew a thin blanket over both of them and lay back against Silver where he had been. 

His eyes closed and he said nothing even when Silver returned his arm to where it had been wrapped around Flint’s body. If obtaining that gold meant irrefutably aligning himself with Flint, Silver would do that. Even if it meant protecting him from his entire crew.


	4. Cannon Fire 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Flint and Silver's one night together, and into the hunt for the Urca gold.

Sleep lingered over him as heaviness in his limbs and eyelids and haziness in his vision. Light filtered into his little room, not bright enough to illuminate anything, just enough to cast shadows. The sunrise was still a little ways off. It wouldn’t be enough to attenuate the chill in the air, but he was warm and protected from any cold. He wasn’t ready to move let alone prepare for the day ahead. 

He’d long since resigned himself to a life of solitude and loneliness. But there was an arm around him, a man curled close at his back, and he held that arm securely to his body, caressing the warm skin. He slid his hand to the one resting on his chest until he could weave their fingers together. It was more than he ever thought he’d have. This felt like love. 

Rain splattered against the window, rhythmic, repetitive, hypnotic, and could lull him back into unconsciousness if he let it. But the brush of a soft kiss against his neck brought flutters to the beat of his heart and shivers to his skin. He turned his head and received another kiss on his cheek that lasted as if it would remain forever. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He moved until his back was on the bed, his fingers were threaded through short blond hair, and those lips were pressed to his own. 

For a moment, he lost himself in the slow, sweet melding of their mouths. The featherlight whisper of breath, the soft lips that always bestowed gentle kisses to start, the delicate slide of a tongue coaxing his lips apart, the hand that came up to rest lightly on his neck and jaw. It brought longing even as it filled him with more warmth and affection than he’d ever had. He held tighter and was gripped in return. 

And the kisses turned possessive. Deeper, messier, less carefully measured, with teeth against his lower lip and a tongue teasing and claiming him, and he moaned, ready to give over everything. 

“Do you want me?” The words were breathless and nuzzled against his neck. 

He smiled and sighed from the heaviness in his chest. “More than anything.”

They shifted slightly until they were joined together, ease leftover from their coupling the night before, and he wilted in the heat of Thomas’ arms, lost in the feel of him. He smelled of delicately fragrant herbs, ink, sheets of paper, and freshly washed clothes, and all James wanted to breathe in was how those things combined and stayed on his lover’s skin. 

They moved together like they weren’t meant to be separate. They had a familiar, steady rhythm and recognized when it needed to be altered. He clung to the arm stretched across his body with its hand tangled in his hair. His heart sped and felt as if it could burst from his chest, and Thomas kissed him on the curve of his cheek, the spot that belonged to him alone though James would joyfully relinquish every part of his body, heart, and soul. Thomas would treasure it and always keep him safe. 

Thomas brought their foreheads together and held tighter to James’ hair. “Do you want me to touch you?”

James shook his head and reached back to grip Thomas’ hip. “Keep going. Please. I just need you.” He was kissed and given breath, life, and love, for all he offered. He clutched Thomas and sobbed incoherently when it was all too much and he was still reaching. 

Thomas gathered him close and pressed his teeth into the curve between James’ neck and shoulder, gifting him a sharp, sting that sent him over. Where blinding euphoria eclipsed everything but the man who held him and loved him and followed him there. 

As soon as he had the strength, he turned and pulled Thomas on top of him where he could wrap himself around Thomas’ long, slender body and keep him surrounded in warmth. Their legs tangled together and he held tightly, one hand cradling the back of Thomas’ head. 

Thomas’ hand slid through his own red-brown hair, thumb stroking across James’ forehead. It washed him in serenity and the warmth that someone cared for him. James sighed, contented and blissful, and left kisses dotting any place he could reach on Thomas’ face. 

Soft laughter danced over his neck and Thomas left a kiss on his shoulder. “I love when you’re so affectionate.”

James hugged him close, enamored with it himself. It had never been safe enough to act as such with anyone else. But there also hadn’t been anyone he’d wanted to cover in loving kisses and touches the way he wanted to with Thomas. If only these moments weren’t so rare. “I wish…” he started and then stopped himself. There was no point in wishing for something that could never be a reality. 

Thomas stroked his forehead again. “What do you wish, love?”

James closed his eyes, savoring the gentleness. If there were substantiality to it, he’d wish for many things. But if this — being loved so irrefutably and completely by someone he so admired, venerated, adored, and loved in return — was the only wish he had that would be granted, he would gladly take it and never ask for more. The dilemma came when it only made him crave more of what had been so absent before the Hamiltons. “For more of these moments. With just us. With Miranda. Where I can love you and not worry about the repercussions.”

He felt more than heard Thomas’ heavy sigh and then Thomas cupped his face and kissed him. It was fierce and protective and fervent, and left James breathless. “I would never let any harm come to you. You’re safe with me.”

“I know.” James clutched him. The fear he held was never for himself. 

“It’s not you that you’re worried about.” Thomas stroked his face and kissed him again. This time, this kiss was soft, full of promises. “Someday, you won’t have to. There will be a future for love. One without willful ignorance or bloody retaliation. No one will kill anyone else and the human race will come together in concord, harmony, light, joy and life.”

James might think the words naïve or hollow if not for the ferocity in which they were spoken. Thomas believed them with all his soul, and there was nothing about him that was ignorant or foolish. James wished he had even a sliver of that sort of faith. “You don’t think it impossible?

A sweet, beautiful smile washed over Thomas’ face. “Nothing is impossible. Human beings are capable of so much. In thousands of years, we’ve learned to travel and navigate by the stars. We can heal wounds and cure illnesses. We have systems of science and variations in languages, vastly different cultures that are so rich and detailed. We’ve built incredible monuments, churches, created art and music and poetry all worthy of weeping from the talent and beauty and joy of all of it. Anything that seems impossible has solutions. There’s always a way. We just have to find it.”

His breath, his pulse, his whole body stilled as it always had when Thomas became impassioned. As if nothing else had ever existed. How could anyone not be swept away by his sincere and heartfelt love for all of humanity? “You really believe that,” James said, more in awe than in doubt. That fact that someone could look at the world and see what it could be was astonishing enough, but someone who was willing to fight to change it for the better? And actually thought it possible to do so? 

“Of course I do. I have to believe it.”

The alternative was far worse, James had to agree. As it existed presently, the world was a horrible, cruel place, and he knew he could have been far less fortunate than he was. 

“I know for all the wonderful things humankind has done there are just as many terrible ones. But no one is inherently evil. We like to think so because it’s easier to revile monsters than look at how those monsters were created. And certainly easier to slay a frightening creature than to tear down the systems that make them.” Thomas’ heart rushed with his words, and James felt it through his own body, so taken in by everything about him. When Thomas smiled, wistful and enamored, it was only when he looked over at James. “You taught me that.” 

But then the bright, lovely blue of Thomas’ eyes turned distant and veiled with sadness. “How can so many people be dismissed and condemned for how they were forced to survive? If they wish for forgiveness and work to make peace, how can we not honor that? How can we not support that? I don’t want to issue pardons to pirates out of cowardice. My father, his allies, may think it. Everyone may argue it, but there’s nothing cowardly about it. Everyone deserves mercy.”

James wasn’t sure he agreed; not when considering the way some people were thought of and treated. He couldn’t help wanting retribution when it came to how Miranda was talked about, how Thomas was talked about. How he’d been regarded his whole life. But he did agree that fighting for the plan Thomas wanted to enact took extraordinary courage. 

“I don’t want to save Nassau for the men here who believe they should control it. I want to give power to those who should have it,” Thomas idly ran his fingers over James’ chest, still distant, focused elsewhere. “It’s their home, they’re the ones invested in it. Why shouldn’t they create and be part of the home that belongs to them? Why shouldn’t they control what is theirs?”

James nudged Thomas’ cheek with his nose, offering himself as an anchor. “Perhaps that is the problem. Whitehall, those in charge here, they don’t want to give up what they believe is rightfully something they are entitled to.”

“It’s not theirs. It’s not ours and it never was,” Thomas said firmly. “But if I can do something to stabilize it, put an end to the violence, and make it safe for all who reside there, I want to. I have to. There’s no reason any of this has to end in bloodshed.”

James nodded and ran his hand over the muscles of Thomas’ back. “I know.”

Thomas sighed and rolled onto his side where he rested his head on James’ arm. “I know you’re skeptical. You have every reason to be. I wouldn’t blame you if you told me you didn’t believe any of this could be accomplished.”

James turned toward him so they were side by side and nestled in close. “I might not know how we could possibly achieve it, but I promise you, I’m with you. If there’s anything I believe in, it’s you. And I’ll stand beside you through all of this and whatever else we face in the future. I want to make this happen; I’ll do everything in my power to see your dream come true.”

“I know you will.” Thomas pressed his lip between his teeth and smiled brightly, with so much adoration it was hard to believe James was the one that look was meant for. He rested his hand on James’ chest. “You are my dream come true. In case you were unaware.”

James swallowed hard and bit his lip before it could quiver. He tried to laugh instead of be swept way by emotion, but with Thomas, that was impossible. His eyes watered and his chest was too overfull and heavy. Thomas brought him close, kissed him, and held him until they couldn’t avoid the light of day any longer. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The lantern candle had burnt out during the night but light shone through tiny cracks in the wooden planks. The stench of sweat, musty books, and salt water overpowered anything else, and Flint remembered where he was. The air was humid and stuffy and the heat of another person wrapped around him made it oppressive. 

But it had been so long. The last time he’d woken up next to someone like this — naked, sticky, crusty, covered in invisible and some not so invisible red marks with lingering soreness in every muscle — he couldn’t actually remember. It had been that long. He’d never bothered to memorize the last time because he’d never been able to accept it as the last time. 

Even now, that wound was bleeding. He didn’t know how to make it stop. Miranda’s voice was inside his head telling him what they had been doing wasn't living, and how he wouldn’t want either of them to suffer. He would have wanted them to find happiness even though it was happiness without him. 

The words seemed so trite and ineffectual. There were things he enjoyed — interesting garments, testing recipes, being on the water, learning, reading, losing himself in the words and worlds and characters, but happiness was such a strong, elusive concept. What had he ever found happiness in except for a brilliant, beautiful man who wanted to make the world better for all who lived in it?

He couldn’t be alone any longer. So he let Silver remain curled against him with his loose and clingy limbs draped over Flint’s body. It wasn’t happiness, but if it meant feeling something other than loss, rage, or despair for even a few moments, then why should he deprive himself of it? 

Because he didn’t deserve it. He deserved every bit of suffering he endured. If not for all his crimes the past ten years, then for the way he’d entirely destroyed the two people he loved most. He’d brought such misery upon them. He didn’t deserve a single measure of relief. 

The arm draped around him tightened and a displeased, drowsy noise came from Silver. He nuzzled Flint sleepily and kissed his shoulder, and Flint should be peremptory or irritated at the very least. But he looked back at Silver with his pretty face hidden under a mess of dark curls. Flint didn’t have the energy to be angry just yet. 

He closed his eyes and let Silver kiss along the back of his neck, and tried to ignore how it soothed places where there had been nothing but a gaping wound for so many years. It would never have the love or care behind it that Flint ached from missing, but it did feel good. Nothing felt even a fraction like this any more. 

Silver moved until he was more securely tucked behind Flint, and then grazed his teeth over Flint’s neck and pressed them together until it stung. Flint sucked in a sharp breath, ignited with lust. A smug grin curved against Flint’s skin. “Morning.”

Flint had to force himself not to smile. The last thing he should ever do was encourage Silver. He was already far too out of breath and desirous when he spoke. “I said one night. Not one night and one morning.”

Silver’s hand wandered over Flint’s chest anyway and his breath tickled Flint’s ear. “In that case… yon light is not daylight, I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhales to be to thee this night a torchbearer, and light thee on they way.”

Flint stilled, and then turned enough so he could level a glare. “You’re fucking joking.”

Silver managed a near-innocent smile and tossed long curls out of his eyes. “I’m not.”

Flint narrowed his gaze but Silver didn’t flinch, and he couldn’t let that stand. “You think you can keep me from ending your life if you spout inane, romantic nonsense at me?”

“I think,” Silver glanced around them at the shelves of books Flint kept close to his bed. “That you’re fond of literature and would appreciate someone sharing that interest. I happen to like his way with words and storytelling.”

There was no possibility that was the whole and only truth. Silver was still trying to needle his way into something he could use to his advantage. “Fine. I have a better one for you. ‘There are no tricks in plain and simple faith, but hollow men, like horses hot at hand, make gallant show and promise of their mettle; but when they should endure the bloody spur, they fall their crests and like deceitful jades, sink in the trial.’”

Silver’s brow knit in concentration as his hand traced teasing circles on Flint’s hip. “I’d ask if you were threatening to assassinate me, but I think it’s more likely you’re accusing me of being Brutus to your Caesar.” 

The grin that took him was unexpected, but the fact that Silver could recognize the words was… a touch impressive. Flint couldn’t stop the feeling that flooded in his chest, even though it was exactly the reaction that Silver had wanted from him. 

Worse was that Silver seemed to notice, and he grazed his teeth over Flint’s jaw just below his ear. “Now the hungry lion roars, and the wolf behowls the moon, whilst the heavy ploughman snores all with weary task fordone.”

At least his persistence that it was still night was for an obvious reason. It was tempting to push back against Silver’s very evident arousal, and including right now into their arrangement wouldn’t be that much of an embellishment. Flint licked his lips instead. “Night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast and yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger.”

Silver frowned, his intense blue eyes filled with incredible starvation and want, and it was difficult to ignore. He was so bright and vibrant and full of relentless optimism; Flint couldn’t comprehend how. Not with the things Silver must have faced. People didn’t end up in this life because they were fortunate. 

When Silver spoke in his low, melodic voice, his tone was softer. Far more dangerous. “Under the greenwood tree, who loves to lie with me, and turn his merry note unto the sweet bird’s throat.” His sincerity was undoubtedly false, but there was no way to strip it bare and expose it as such. He sounded far too earnest. “Come hither, come hither, come hither — here shall he see no enemy but winter and rough weather.”

Flint closed his eyes and swallowed, then turned onto his back, slid his arm under and around Silver, and immediately, Silver took the invitation and covered Flint with his body. 

The heat of him should be too much. It should be suffocating. But the soft, bare skin against his own, the smell of smoke and citrus in his hair, the way Silver was pressed to him, hungry and wanting and willing. Flint couldn’t push him away. He needed it more than he ever wanted to admit. 

He ran his hands over the bones and muscles in Silver’s back, licked the sheen of sweat on Silver’s throat and mouthed a wet kiss just below his jaw. As expected, Silver moaned and dug his fingers into Flint’s arms. Flint drew him closer and pressed his mouth near Silver’s ear. “Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.”

Silver lifted so as to look at him and grinned. 

Flint smirked back and challenged, “Be gone and live or stay and die.”

The flicker of what might’ve manifested into a pout appeared but Silver’s expression quickly changed to something far more mischievous. He slid down Flint’s body, rubbing against him as he went. “Let me be taken,” he purred. “Let me be put to death.” His hands ran over Flint’s ribs and left scratches down his sides, sending tingling fire over his skin. “I am content, so thou wilt have it so.” Silver moved lower and nipped at Flint’s abdomen and along his hipbones. “I have more care to stay than will to go.” 

Flint raised an eyebrow but let Silver settle between his legs. “Do you then?”

Silver nuzzled and licked the length of Flint’s cock. “Come, death. And welcome.” He grinned up at Flint before swallowing him down, nearly all the way. 

Flint’s breath stuttered in something between a scoff and a laugh. Heat flooded through him, a palliative balm but soothing nonetheless, and he sank back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Silver’s mouth and hands. 

He wasn’t allowed much of a chance to savor it however. A knock sounded on the door to his room, and Dufresne’s voice was on the other side. “Captain. We’ll be ready to get underway in less than an hour.” 

Flint shoved Silver off of him and moved as far back on his bed as he could. “Thank you, Mr. Dufresne. I’ll be on deck shortly.” He waited to hear footsteps moving away from the door, but there were none.

“If you are aware of Mr. Silver’s location,” Dufresne said, still near the door. “Would you please remind him that he agreed to look after Randall every moment and that the crew will not tolerate anyone shirking their duties.”

Silver lifted his hands as if he was affronted by the notion. “He told me to go aw—”

Flint clapped a hand over Silver’s mouth and glared darkly. They didn’t need to know about this. No one should know about this. His heart raced like frightened prey and he couldn’t stop it. 

He just had to keep his voice level. They wouldn’t care. It didn’t matter. They couldn’t confirm anything. They couldn’t oust him from his position on the crew because of this. There were plenty of crew members who used other men when they needed to satisfy an urge. He’d seen it. They’d all seen it. This wasn’t a naval ship. No one could take the Walrus from him. 

They didn’t know that Flint was different. They couldn’t know that his desires were beyond physical satisfaction. No one but Miranda knew that. 

His heart was still frantic and he focused on breathing slowly. “The problem will be rectified. I’ll be out in a moment.” Once Dufresne left and closed the cabin door, Flint took his hand away and dug out his clothes. “Get dressed.” 

Silver looked crushed. “You were there. You heard him. He told me to leave him alone.”

Flint glared again and pulled on his shirt and trousers, then dug through a box on his shelves until he found something to tie back his hair. “Don’t make me tell you again. This is finished.”

There was annoyance in the way Silver sighed and moved to find his own clothing. “If you’re concerned that I gave something away by speaking, clearly, he already knew I was in here, and that was why he chose to speak to me through you. I’m sure Randall would have told him anyway. Not to mention, Mr. De Groot already warned me that you would not and could not do anything to intervene for me if the crew decided to string me up for whatever I’ve done. And you have to know he tells Mr. Dufresne everything so I imagine they already know that we’ve been—”

“We’ve been nothing.” Flint fastened his belt and grabbed his shoes. Just because they suspected didn’t mean he had to confirm anything. “And now we’re done. I said one night. That was all.”

Silver pulled on his trousers and gave Flint a look when he picked up his shirt, but he shrugged it on and didn’t comment on it. “Don’t you think that it would be more reasonable to restrict this to after we return with our gold rather than before we’ve even departed?”

He almost laughed. “Not for a single fucking moment.” It would only lead to Silver finding something of leverage to use against him. Or it would lead to something far worse. Others could find out that they’d done this more than once. Flint could start needing this like an opium addict who craved the mindless, numbing relief. 

“Your trust issues are truly incredible.” 

“You don’t stay alive by trusting anyone.”

Something washed over Silver’s face and kept him from immediately retorting. Instead he pulled on his socks and shoes. Guilt most likely. When he spoke, it was less confrontational. “Unless absolutely forced to do so because my life depended on it, I would never kill anyone. I’m completely squeamish when it comes to real physical pain.”

Flint snorted. “You really are in the wrong profession.”

“I won’t argue with that. But my point is that I wouldn’t do that to you. You said it yourself, I can’t hurt you. There’s no need to worry that I would kill you.”

Death was hardly something Flint feared. Whether Silver’s words were true or not, he was dangerous and not to be trusted for much different reasons. Flint refused to respond or look at him and finished getting ready. 

When they were both mostly clothed, he opened the door from his room and into his main cabin where he donned his jacket and made sure his hair was sufficiently in place and out of the way. 

Silver left his clothes rumpled, his hair disheveled, and he waited at the door either to block the way or because he wanted instructions. Given that it was Silver, Flint had to assume the former. “So, this is all? Nothing more? No goodbye?” Silver tilted his head, exposing the line of his neck that would be so easy for Flint to sink his teeth into. 

He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as he moved toward Silver. “Unless you force me to hunt you down again — and if you do, you will not live beyond your capture — you’re still a member of the crew. We’re not saying goodbye. We have a week at least of being required to share the same space. So I suggest you keep to yourself and your assigned tasks or the crew will string you up.” He attempted to brush past Silver, but was stopped by his hand. It didn’t even touch Flint’s chest, but he could feel the heat coming off of him. 

“One kiss,” Silver’s voice was soft, the same low, melodic, seductive tone he used to get Flint to give in earlier. “And I’ll descend.”

He clenched his jaw and dared to look at those intense blue eyes, just to prove them ineffectual. “And I wouldn’t kiss you even if we were parting forever.”

“You’ll put your mouth on my cock,” Silver whispered and leaned forward just enough that Flint’s whole body tightened with lust and fury. Their noses were almost touching and Silver wet his lips with his tongue, breath falling heavily over Flint’s face. “But not on my lips?”

He gripped Silver’s shoulder and shoved him against the wall. “You haven’t earned such a thing.” He tightened his hand, threatening Silver’s vulnerable throat. “Leave now before I consider forging ahead _without_ the last part of the Urca’s schedule.”

Silver’s eyes travelled over his face, and he sighed heavily before pulling away and leaving the cabin. 

Flint took a moment to breathe deeply and compose himself before following him out on deck. If there was any chance of surviving this, he had to remain indifferent to everything but the Urca gold. That was all that mattered. What he would do with it, the reason why he had to save Nassau, that was all that ever mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything Flint and Silver quote at each other is Shakespeare snippets. Starting with Romeo & Juliet, Julius Caesar, Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It, and back to Romeo & Juliet. 
> 
> Oh, and I decided I needed a flashback. The show likes to be tricksy so there you go. O:-)


	5. Cannon Fire 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relations with the crew grow tense the night of the storm, and Silver gives up the last of the Urca's schedule.

The moment Silver stepped onto the deck, someone gripped him by the ear, snagged a handful of his hair, and nearly wrenched him to his knees. He yelped in pain and grabbed the man’s wrist to stop it from pulling. But it didn’t work as well as he hoped. 

“When you’re assigned duties on this ship, you’re expected to complete them.” De Groot dragged him over to the stairs like he was a child caught misbehaving.

Silver scrambled to follow. The strength contained in the older man was completely astonishing. But then again, he’d probably spent a good portion of his life on Flint’s crew so perhaps it wasn’t that astonishing. 

“When you volunteer for duties on this ship, you’re also expected to complete them.”

They went down the stairs with Silver doing his best not to trip and further jerk around parts of his head that he would really prefer remain attached. 

De Groot hauled him to the galley where Silver was finally released. “When the only reason you’re alive is because you cheated your way out of persecution, you had better follow through with the job you swore on your life that you would do.”

When Silver straightened and turned to explain himself, someone else punched him in the soft part of his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his middle, and nearly puked. 

“Randall means something to us.” Logan stood over him, looking far more burly and menacing than Silver remembered him being. “You better fucking take this deal seriously.” He stalked away and yelled at someone for storing the flour and sugar in the wrong area. 

It left De Groot behind with barely contained hatred blazing in his eyes. “You may think you’re above all this and that you can get away with anything because the captain allows you to warm his bed, but he—”

“Can’t save me. Won’t save me. I know.” Silver spit acrid, yellow-brown fluid on the floor, and was tempted to accuse De Groot of conspiring to murder the captain just so he could hold it up as the reason why De Groot didn’t believe Flint’s authority would prevail. But doing so would only endanger himself. And Flint. “I wasn’t trying to get away with anything. Randall didn’t need me and he wanted time to himself. Just because he lost his leg and some of his wits doesn’t mean he isn’t entitled to the autonomy he desires.” 

De Groot’s expression darkened as if Silver was the most pestilent vermin he’d ever seen. “The only reason you made this bargain was to evade the consequences of your actions. It had nothing to do with concern for Randall. Pretending otherwise will only bring your life to an end sooner.” His nose wrinkled and Silver expected more warnings or threats, but De Groot just glared haughtily instead. “Bathe as soon as you have the chance. You smell disgusting.” 

Once he stormed off, Silver slumped to the floor and let his head fall back against a wooden barrel. He would’ve commented on the unique and ridiculous order to attend to cleanliness while among a group of people who were far from hygienic, but he’d had enough of everyone’s wrath and temper for one morning. 

The blow to the stomach wasn’t the only thing that made him queasy. He didn’t anger easily, but the fact that people like De Groot, Dufresne, Gates, and even Billy were seen as more trustworthy and dedicated when all they had done was plan mutiny and the murder of their captain, Silver couldn’t help but be extremely irritated. 

If it came down to it, of course he would choose himself over Flint, but there was no reason he had to make such a decision. All he wanted was that gold and the freedom that came with it. Flint, he imagined, wanted the same. Silver wasn’t about to be caught up in these petty arguments over ship hierarchy politics. He didn’t give a shit one way or the other. 

But letting them murder Flint? A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another. Even if it wouldn’t be until after they’d acquired their treasure. Their voyage didn’t have to end with any more people dying. It didn’t matter if they were criminals; it wasn’t right. There had to be something Silver could do to stop them. 

Would Flint listen to him this time if Silver told him what he’d overheard? He sincerely doubted it. But there had to be something. They still needed Flint to find them the gold, which wouldn’t be for at least a few days. There was time. Silver would figure something out.

After Logan yelled at him a reminder to keep his eyes on Randall at all times because that was the deal — even when that wasn’t exactly the deal — the crew seemed to pay him little attention. The Walrus sailed out of the bay and to the north with days and impending summer storms between them and their prize. 

De Groot was right in one aspect. The scent on his shirt was incredibly distracting. Silver did clean up some but didn’t touch his shirt. He doubted anyone but the quartermaster and his accomplices would consider the source of it to be something other than himself. 

It was completely worth it to walk around with the crew thinking him an uncontrollable pervert who jacked off every chance he got when he saw the looks that Dufresne and De Groot gave him. They knew the truth and refused to say it because it annoyed them that much. When Silver grinned proudly, their glares were even better. They were already obviously against him, so he might as well enjoy it. 

He’d been so close to tasting Flint on his tongue, having Flint writhe and shudder and pant under his touch, feeling Flint come down his throat. Dufresne could have waited a few minutes at least. Whatever discomfort the quartermaster was experiencing now because of his knowledge of Silver’s relations with their captain was well deserved. 

After days of nothing but keeping track of Randall and assisting with whatever Randall asked him to do as far as preparing and cooking for the crew, Silver had mostly managed to push all thoughts of Flint from his mind. The gold was the only thing that mattered, and Silver was privileged enough to say that it wasn’t once but three times that he’d been with the captain. With a larger variety than what he usually did with those he slept with. 

But then he would happen to catch a glimpse of Flint when he ventured up onto the weather deck. Or when Flint left his cabin for a needed meal. And Silver would remember the way Flint felt with his whole body hot and hard as steel against Silver. The way the smell of leather and coppery seawater stayed with him. The way Flint touched him, how he was so unexpectedly careful and considerate. How he let Silver take him and pleasure him and stay next to him as they slept. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time it felt that amazing fucking someone. If he’d had to guess what sex with Flint would be like, it never would have been what actually happened. Was that why it stuck in his mind and refused to let him go?

Managing to have good sex, really, really good sex with someone was less common than most people seemed to think. There had to be an alignment of needs and wants, and communication on how to satisfy both and all parties involved. Some people were blunt and straightforward about it, but the ones he’d had who were like that generally didn’t care about returning favors. They cared about what they wanted. While he completely understood the concept, it often led to sex that was less than satisfying. 

His night with Flint had been anything but unsatisfying. The feel of him was incredible. Having Flint come in his arms because of his cock and his hands and his words gave Silver a rush that very nearly took his mind off the gold.

But that was the most important thing. Gold. Freedom. A life away from the sea and poverty. That is what he needed to focus on. One night and nothing more was reasonable. He should be grateful for what he did get, and he was.

The end of it was inevitable. But given that there was nothing to do but wait as the Walrus sailed along the coast of Florida, his thoughts were preoccupied with it far too often. How could he be blamed for that? If he had something else that was equally as appealing to distract him, he certainly would have focused on that instead. 

It even caused Randall to insist he be left alone more often since Silver didn’t exactly have anyone else nearby who would listen to what he had to say. And he might’ve talked too extensively about a few things once or twice. But cooking was not his strong suit. He had to find some way to pass the time that wasn’t thinking about Flint and his muscular body, large rough hands, soft auburn hair, and pretty lips. Not to mention the smell of his skin, the way he tasted, bitter, salty, heady on Silver’s tongue. The way it felt to be held bruisingly tight in his arms and taken by him in every sense of the word. 

None of that was helpful and it would only leave him aching with no real way to satisfy his yearning. He always could take care of himself, but the length of time that gratification would last was minimal at best. And as much as the idea of Flint being struck with jealousy sounded intriguing, he would prefer not to know how that man dealt with such feelings. At least, not until Silver was securely in possession of his treasure and at a safe distance. Which ruled out being with anyone else on the ship. 

Sometime in the early hours before sunrise, Silver had been trying his hardest to stay asleep in his hammock while he could manage it, but someone shook his shoulder. He groaned and waved the man away. “Not yet, Randall. The sun isn’t even up.”

“Mr. Silver.” The quartermaster’s voice was stern and agitated, and not at all what Silver wanted to wake up for. “The captain requested I inform you that Mr. Gates will be joining us briefly tonight, and when he does, you are to meet them in his cabin.”

Silver peered through heavy eyelids at Dufresne and the displeased scowl he wore. “Did he explain to you for what purpose I’m being requested to grace his presence at such a time? Or why he asked you to deliver his message?” If Gates was involved, Silver doubted the meeting would be pleasant. Though he could imagine why it would be taking place. They needed the last of the schedule. Why remind him of this now? Couldn’t it wait? Was Flint awake now and unable to sleep? 

Dufresne seemed as annoyed and weary as Silver felt. His expression was pinched and stiff, and perhaps he wondered why Flint didn’t simply talk to Silver directly. They might not agree on much, but it was clear Silver and Dufresne at least agreed on that. “When Mr. Gates arrives tonight, meet them in the captain’s cabin.” Dufresne turned and disappeared behind one of the doors at the end of the hold. 

Silver sighed and closed his eyes, but a knot wound in his stomach and felt like something sharp and hulking that made him gag. He doubted he would manage to sleep now. He was severely not fond of sleeping in swinging hammocks that lacked structure and solidity. It was too bound to the sea and he had always preferred the land. He’d never had much of a option on a ship however unless he wanted to sleep on wooden floors. But the choice in where he would sleep was hardly what kept him awake now. 

There would be no reason to let Silver live once he gave up the last shred of information. He was fairly certain he could sway Flint to not kill him, but Gates always looked at him with icy scorn. And irony of ironies, the captain trusted Gates more than he trusted Silver. That was, if he trusted Silver at all. 

If it came down to it, Silver was not in the least above begging. Especially when it came to his life. But Flint wouldn’t kill him. Not after everything. That morning when Silver woke and Flint was still naked and warm in his arms, Flint had seemed… almost happy. 

At the very least, Silver had been able to coax lovely smiles and lighthearted, pretty words out of him. As if there was a whole different side to Flint that no one else ever saw, knew about, or even considered. But Silver had found a tiny flicker. 

He couldn’t believe the man who let him stay and let him see it — when he could have kicked Silver out immediately after they had fucked — would also end Silver’s life. 

Normally, Silver wouldn’t have been thankful for the weather turning sour, but for the moment, it gave him something else to think on. 

He’d been on the sea enough to know a few distinct things. Firstly, he did not like ocean, he did not like violent waves, he detested storms but could stomach them now without losing everything he’d eaten over the side of the ship. The caribbean and its surrounding area was prone to more storms than he truly preferred, and this storm in particular that happened to be entrapping the Walrus was a horribly unpleasant one. 

Randall was not just fed up with Silver any more, but with everyone. And everyone else seemed to have just as much tolerance for the men around him as well. Most crews got that way when the weather turned rough and their time spent together was more confined and precarious, but Silver could only play cheerful mediator to so many people. The majority of the men preferred to settle differences with their fists anyway. 

Once they had been plied with a good amount of soup, bread, and rum, the atmosphere turned much less hostile despite the thunder and lightning, the downpour, and massive, stomach-churning waves that rocked the ship. They were still confined together but at least there was music and jovial chatter instead of knife fights and the spewing of threats. 

He did have to help persuade Randall to not use his knife against Dr. Howell, since the doctor only wanted to make all of their lives easier, but if the choice were between that and facing Gates, or learning exactly what Flint would do to him after he gave up the last bit of information, Silver would quickly pick dealing with Randall. Unfortunately, he had no such luxury. As soon as he overheard Logan talking of Captain Gates’ rowing over from the ranger in the midst of the storm that would easily devour a longboat, Silver braved the weather deck and furious water surrounding them. 

He tightly clutched the lines and the rails so hard they dug into his hands. The ropes, wood, and metal were slippery and rough on his skin, but the most difficult part was staying upright as he slid across the deck with the cold rain and waves. Somehow, he managed to arrive inside Flint’s cabin in one piece. One very sopping wet piece. His hair stuck to his face and dripped water into his eyes, his clothes clung to his body, and if it hadn’t been warmer in the cabin than it was out on deck, he might’ve started shivering. 

He staggered over, working hard to keep his balance with the rolling ship, and braced himself against Flint’s desk. Gates threw a cloth at him. From how neat and organized Flint seemed to keep his possessions, Silver doubted he’d appreciate all of them being soaked. He dried off his hands as best he could considering the rest of him was still saturated. 

“We make landfall in the morning.” Flint moved a bottle of ink holding a quill toward him. “The last part of the schedule if you don’t mind.” If it weren’t for his humorless tone and the worn, rigid lines etched into his face, Silver might’ve taken the words as a gentlemanly request. But there was no room for ambiguity in the way he glared when their eyes met. 

Silver had faced worse. He’d even faced worse from Flint. He still had tricks to play if Flint was truly angry and finished with him. He just hoped he didn’t have to resort to them. Silver tossed the rag on the desk and bent down to write. 

Flint picked up what looked like a thick ship’s logbook and made a show of dropping it on the desk in front of him. 

Silver peered through his wet hair and over at Flint before he managed to scrawl out anything. “What’s that?”

“My own reconnaissance.” Flint opened the book and flipped through it as if he cared more about the contents of those pages than what Silver would write down. “There are a dozen bays and inlets within a day’s journey from here that will make reasonable locations for the Urca to take on water.” 

His dark eyes fixed on Silver with an air of a circling, predatory animal, but they held such focus and power that Silver didn’t want to look away. He’d much rather spread out naked on Flint’s desk and let the captain fuck him with all that simmering prurient fire that Silver knew burned inside him. What could he say, a little danger was attractive. 

“If the course you write down leads to one of them, odds are your information is accurate.”

In other words, Flint had figured it out anyway. Or he certainly would even if Silver’s memorized schedule was wrong. Because why trust anyone when you are clever enough to complete everything yourself? All Flint wanted now was something to corroborate his own findings. Which begged the question… “And if it doesn’t?”

That relentless, harsh look that meant Flint would rather order Silver to leave than let himself find release was the only response Silver received. Unless he wanted to count the coincidental flashes of lightning and the rumble of the storm outside as God or the universe speaking to him. 

He’d like to think that the fact that Gates was standing to the side keeping watch had something to do with how stern and closed off Flint was, but it was wishful, foolish, and Silver knew it. He sighed heavily, put the quill to paper, and wrote down the remaining piece that would lead Flint to their treasure. Even before now there was little reason to keep Silver around, considering Flint could just pour over charts and maps and pinpoint exactly where he would need to go. At least Flint hadn’t allowed anyone to torture the information out of him.

When he finished, he handed over the sheet of paper, and waited while Flint checked it against his own information. Unless the original schedule itself was faulty, Silver wasn’t concerned with what he’d written down. When he was given longer than four fucking minutes, he had a good memory. 

Gates’ presence made the back of Silver’s neck prickle as if he could sense an impending attack. Or maybe he was simply full of loathing for Silver. Did he know that he and Flint had fucked? More than once? Sort of more than once. Silver was still adamant that Flint closing himself off and refusing to allow himself release meant it didn’t count. He wanted to feel Flint come inside him and he still hadn’t gotten that either. 

He couldn’t imagine that Gates wouldn’t know about it. Anyone on a ship knew everyone else’s business whether they wanted to or not. That was just how things were. Was Gates angry about it? Disgusted? Was that part of why he’d told Dufresne about the stolen page? Because Silver hadn’t had anything to do with Billy’s death. He’d been chained to a sofa and hadn’t even been on the ship at the time. 

The loss of Billy had to be the reason Gates was with the mutineers and would abide with Flint being murdered. But divulging the inflammatory secret that Silver had been the one to steal the schedule put him at much more of a risk than it did Flint. It was a hit aimed at both of them. 

What would happen if Gates attacked Silver or somehow prevented him from keeping Flint alive? He doubted his chances against Gates in a fight and there was even less of a reason to believe Silver could convince him to spare his life. The worry in Silver’s stomach grew heavier and more tangled. 

He gave Gates half a smile to ward off some of the animosity fixed upon him. More than that was too much effort and it would be obvious that his heart wasn’t in it. Flint, however, he turned back to and watched intently, hoping for his own sake, for his future and potential freedom that his contribution of the schedule would match something of Flint’s research. 

Flint quickly looked between his book and Silver’s page several times, and then turned that gaze to Silver. The bleak darkness was gone from his eyes and it made Silver’s pulse stumble. “Division Bay. The course leads to Division Bay.”

One step closer to their gold and to freedom, and Silver had to smile. It didn’t hurt that a hint of Flint’s harsh, defensiveness seemed to have lifted. Along with the fact that Silver had caused it. Flint was so striking in all his contradictory nature. 

“Shoals on the eastern shore,” Flint told Gates, pointing to diagrams in his logbook. “But if we approach from the windward we should be able to take up a strong opening position.” He flipped to Silver’s paper and handed it back to him. “Take this to Mr. De Groot. Tell him to adjust our course accordingly and set up our final approach for the morning.”

With his pleased smile still firmly in place, Silver tucked the paper in the inside pocket of his jacket, but stopped before leaving. He couldn’t just yet. It had been days since he’d been allowed to speak with Flint, and he had to know. What would happen now? Not to mention how the idea of leaving Flint alone with Gates felt distinctly discordant with that of Silver or Flint surviving. 

Was there any chance Flint would be more open to the idea of continuing with what they’d started now that Silver had proven he could be trusted? He doubted Flint would trust him fully, but it didn’t need to be with anything important. It just had to be enough that Flint would grant him another night or two. While he could conceivably have it, was it that outrageous to ask for more? It wasn’t as if they’d end up emotionally entangled or attached to each other. It was just fucking.

Flint prompted him before he could properly articulate his questions. “Something else?”

Given Flint’s reaction to Dufresne knowing that Silver stayed the night with him, he likely wouldn’t be thrilled discussing anything in front of Gates. “Well, now that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, I’m just wondering where you and I stand?”

The darkness didn’t return, but Flint was as uncompromising as ever. “Keep wondering.”

That was not in the least bit comforting. Would Flint try to kill him? Would he let Silver into his bed again? Would he grant Silver a kiss or would Silver be flayed alive if he tried? What did Silver have to do in order to earn a kiss? Was earning a kiss even possible or was Flint just making excuses because he didn’t want to?

But of course Flint wouldn’t offer answers. Someone might read between them and actually figure something out about everything he kept behind that wall that shielded him from the outside world. Silver huffed and staggered back over to the door and out into the raging water. 

It was no easier crossing the deck a second time, and the fact that it was taking him away from Flint’s cabin didn’t help. But he managed with only a few collisions that would likely turn into bruises. He made it down the stairs along with a torrent of water and had to fight to keep soaked hair out of his face in order to find the door to where he knew Dufresne, and De Groot would be. They’d taken to locking themselves in the room reserved for Dr. Howell’s surgeries. 

The doctor himself opened when Silver knocked, and wondered how many of these secluded meeting of theirs were for the purpose of plotting Flint’s murder. With Gates so nearby, this certainly had to be one of them. They could have planned out everything and all they’d need to do was inform Gates while he was on board. 

Silver swallowed and tried not to think on it. Not while he was shut away with them. Flint had no reason to want to ensure Silver’s survival. In a fight against three men, no matter how much they seemed to not be fighters, Silver would not win. Not when they were so unreasonably angry. 

Not to mention how they were surrounded by instruments that could easily be torture devices. Then again some people went without weapons and just ripped men’s throats open with their teeth. Silver wouldn’t have believed it expect for the fact that everyone who witnessed it told it the same way. “Captain asked me to pass these to you,” he offered the paper with the final stop for the Urca. “A new course.”

De Groot inspected it and seemed soaked in doubt as much as he was annoyance. But he wouldn’t have wanted to believe in the first place. “The captain accepted the last segment of the Urca route as valid?”

With thoughts of soon obtaining a massive share of gold, Silver attempted to be his reassuring, conciliatory self. “One thing you should not doubt. Certainty is not a word I throw around lightly. Now this information, I’m quite certain I have it right.” He gripped a barrel in order to steady himself. But De Groot brushed past him without another word and with palpable anger coming off him. 

At this point, it was difficult to say if De Groot or the captain was more prone to seething rage. At least Flint’s was obvious and honest. Silver watched De Groot leave and wondered why he seemed in a poorer mood than anyone else on the ship. “That man has a strange way of handling the prospect of imminent wealth beyond reason.”

The silence was proof enough of why they’d gathered here, and Silver’s jaw tightened. If he didn’t figure out how to make amends, he would be their next target. If he didn’t figure out how to stop them from murdering Flint, he didn’t want to think about what would happen. He wouldn’t let them succeed. But he had to survive. “I realize all of you are considerably angry with me. And I know we’ve had our differences.” He moderated his tone so that it was something conducive to peacemaking. “But I followed through with my promise. I only did what I did in order to survive. Surely, you can’t fault me for that. Wouldn’t you have done the same in my place?”

Howell and Dufresne exchanged a glance before the quartermaster looked at him, calm but stern. Like when he’d issued Silver the memory test as if no one’s life was at all hung upon his actions. “We know you’ve engaged in intercourse with the captain.”

Silver’s eyes widened. So Dufresne had an interesting approach to discussing sex. Of all the ways he’d heard sailors and pirates talk about fucking, he couldn’t remember it ever being like that. He scoffed with something of a lighthearted laugh. “I know for a fact we aren’t the only ones who have done so. Not even on this ship. Men have needs. Women have needs, too but no one seems to want to acknowledge that. Which is puzzling seeing as making someone want you is half the fun of it. However since, as far as I know, there are no women aboard, we all have to make do with what we have.”

None of Silver’s words elicited any sort of reaction from Dufresne. He was a perfect, inscrutable statue. “The captain never does.”

“He has a woman in Nassau,” Howell added.

Was it more surprising that they would argue seemingly in defense of the captain’s relationship or were they truly that naïve to think someone couldn’t need more? “So he doesn’t need to find it elsewhere as often. A lot of the crew have women somewhere but they aren’t here now. When the opportunity arises and the mood strikes, why turn it down?”

“As I said. The captain never takes anyone to bed. Nor does he take them anywhere else.” Dufresne added the last with a sharper, more gritted tone. 

Clearly, that wasn’t true because Silver had in fact been in the captain’s bed. For the whole night. “Are you telling me you’re angry on behalf of the mysterious woman Flint may or may not have a relationship with? Because I’ve heard all the stories about her as well.” And Flint had told him directly that she was not his wife or lover. Not that Silver would care if she were. That wasn’t his problem. But what right did they have to be incensed about it? “I don’t see how it matters. The idea that anyone would adhere to faithfulness in these conditions is absurd.”

Did Flint really never take anyone else to bed with him? When Silver thought about it, he supposed that could make sense. Flint wasn’t timid but he was reserved. Every time in fact. But he also, clearly, had experience with other men. Maybe the crew didn’t know Flint as well as they thought. “Or,” Silver began gently, trying to keep it light. “Are you jealous because he chose me when he needed something and not one of you?”

Dufresne looked at him as if Silver was plainly stupid. 

Silver was fairly certain he was spot on. Though jealousy may not be the most accurate word. It wasn’t that they wanted what Flint had given him. If that were the case, they wouldn’t also be planning to murder Flint. Unless they were even more twisted than Silver knew. What they hated was that it was Silver out of anyone who had convinced the captain to do something he, apparently, never did. 

“What you and the captain choose to do in bed is of no concern to me.” Dufresne held onto the beam above his head as the ship bounced and knocked Silver back into the barrel he’d gripped before for balance. “Until it affects the crew and this ship.”

Silver held onto the barrel with both hands but his footing was slippery and he could easily fall. So it was a warning. They were worried about what Silver might do in Flint’s defense. Silver grinned, brightly and amiably, and stood without holding onto the barrel. “That would never happen. It was just a bit of fun. Nothing you need to worry about, Mr. Quartermaster.”

Dufresne didn’t look as if he believed Silver one minuscule bit, but that was far from the point. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Silver. Go about your business.”

Silver kept his smile until he’d closed the door behind him and left them to their plans of mutiny. Dufresne was smart to be concerned. Anything he did would endanger his life, but if he did nothing and let Flint be murdered, there was no reason to believe he’d be allowed to live. More importantly, there was no way any of them would walk away from this with riches if Flint didn’t propel them into it. They needed Flint. 

Would they try to kill him when it was all over after they brought their treasure back to Nassau? Or would they leave him dead in the water off the coast of Florida? 

The thought of Gates still up in Flint’s cabin made Silver’s stomach churn just as much as the unrelenting waves did. Did Flint suspect his former quartermaster? Even a little? Did he know his death was likely being planned out in detail this very moment? Silver huffed and made one more venture up to the weather deck. 

He grabbed onto the nearest man and yelled at him over the rage of the storm that the quartermaster wanted to be notified as soon as Gates left the captain’s cabin and returned to the Ranger. Then he went down to the back corner near Randall’s hammock where he could attempt to dry off in peace, and watch the doctor’s door for word on when Gates had left. 

Whatever would happen between the crew and the captain, Silver knew which side he was on. The only question that remained, how far would he have to go?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Silver walked through the door and could no longer see him, Flint let a grin overtake his face. Watching Silver’s mind swimming in questions, how he so clearly wanted to bombard Flint with them, or the way nervousness would flash in his eyes before it was usurped by stubborn, carefree determination.

There was something about the sheer audacity of that man. It made Silver difficult to keep restrained, but that was probably why he could so easily work his charm on people. He was unbidden and shameless, and there were a lot of reasons to admire such qualities. 

Somehow, Silver was fearless. Which was likely due to arrogance that he could bend anyone to his will. It made his uncertain, wary smiles when Flint goaded him that much funnier. Silver didn’t seem as frightened as he should have been, as most people would be in Flint’s presence. Normally, that presented a problem. With Silver, it meant watching him work that much harder to figure out how to stay ahead of the situation. Watching just how infuriatingly clever he could be. 

It was a dangerous line of thinking that Flint should never go down. He could only satiate loneliness that way so many times before it destroyed him and everything he had left. He’d learned his lesson the first time, and Silver was not and would never be Thomas, nor would he ever offer Flint honest, wholehearted love the way Thomas had. 

Miranda had always seemed content without love of that kind. She found joy in the love she shared with her husband where they were companions, partners, and family, rather than those who were lustful or foolishly in love. 

Flint had been foolishly in love and it had ruined him and his partners who meant more to him than anything. He wouldn’t do it again. If Miranda was content without such a thing, he would be as well. Finding any man like him was an aberration. It wouldn’t happen twice. And he no longer had a heart to give away. 

Soon, it wouldn’t matter. He and Miranda would be safely inland, away from the sea in a Nassau that was free, peaceful, and flourishing. And he’d have to figure out how to be what she needed. 

How could he bring her happiness? How could he give her the life she wanted where there was music and life and peace? Usually, he was adept at deciphering problems and crafting the illusion that he was exactly what people wanted him to be. How to turn himself into someone who could make Miranda happy and fulfilled had eluded him for ten years. Perhaps because she knew him too well. She knew what he really was. 

At least he had another option for company at the moment. He offered Gates a drink from a bottle he’d been saving for close to a year and hoped they could wash away the rancor that had been growing between them. Having someone who didn’t need to fear him, who would talk to him like a person, who knew him as well as was possible without jeopardizing anything was rare and swiftly becoming rarer and more valuable. 

Just once, he wanted to not feel so isolated and alone anymore. For a while, it was enough — laughing with Hal, drinking with him. A very specific, moderated amount. Just enough that he was warm and his wounds were quiet and numb. It felt good knowing the history that they shared, knowing he had someone at his side. Even if just for a little while longer. 

He’d wondered why his friend didn’t understand what he was trying to do. Or course, he’d never properly explained. But maybe Hal had changed his mind. Maybe he’d help to rebuild Nassau. Maybe Flint wouldn’t lose his friend when all of this was done with. 

But Gates’ melancholy, hopeless story proved otherwise. They would never see each other again once they returned home. Gates didn’t understand. Some people had legacies. They created works and structures and systems that lasted. They burned brighter than anything but existed to shine such light upon others. 

They had to be remembered. It was an extraordinarily select few who managed to matter to the world as a whole, but they did exist. Most people were ordinary. Flint was ordinary, but he wouldn’t let the world forget Thomas. He deserved to have his vision realized. He deserved to be remembered.

When Gates stood to leave a second time, Flint didn’t stop him. He nodded quietly and was left to weather the storm alone. 

For several minutes, he remained motionless. He didn’t remember how to move. It took all his focus to keep drawing air into his body and quietly letting it out. He’d consumed only part of a mugful so it wasn’t the drink that weighed him down and made him feel as if he were sinking. And still, he was being swallowed whole by the waves, just as Gates said. 

They were so close to their prize, close enough that he could almost believe all of this might be over. Flint would be gone and James would exist again. Whatever part of James that hadn’t been torn or rotted away. 

He would go lie down but sleep had been his enemy as of late. His bed still held the smell of oranges and fragrant smoke. It was almost familiar now, to the point where it could be comforting. He wasn’t sure if he should wash everything thoroughly and immediately, or do something so that the scent wouldn’t be so faint. 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to purposefully get rid of his smell. The latter wasn’t a solution to anything. It would lead to far more trouble than it was worth. Silver was infuriating in his tricks and dishonesty and how he blatantly cared only for himself. But he was also uniquely bright. The way he could sway people with his smile and his orations was something Flint hadn’t seen in… a long time. A very long time. 

Silver clearly had that same power. If only he chose to use it in a better way. Actually, Flint was fine with Silver being manipulative, dishonest, and selfish. If he weren’t, he’d be far more difficult to handle. And much more difficult to ignore. 

At the knock on his door, Flint placed the bottle of liquor back into the drawer of his desk. He wasn’t drunk enough to be incompetent or ashamed of drinking, but he wasn’t about to share his bottle with anyone else. “Come in.”

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised with the sodden man who stumbled through the door and locked it behind him before swaggering over. Silver pushed his long, soggy curls off his face and stood waiting in a puddle in front of the desk that separated them. As if Flint would give him permission to move closer. 

His hair fell into his eyes as errant, soaked curls that stuck to his neck and cheeks. The soft light and the wrath of the storm left Silver’s skin wet and glossy, defining the lines of muscles, making him appear as if he’d exerted himself and been covered in sweat rather than seawater. And Silver smiled, wide and winsome, even as he tried not to shiver. 

Flint tore his eyes away and left his chair. “You are aware we have gear that will keep the wearer from ending up half-drowned.”

Silver shrugged though it seemed as if the thought was just occurring to him. “This was quicker. I have something to tell you.”

Flint’s jaw tightened and his hand stilled on a cabinet door. “Is it of a personal nature?”

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t. Not to me anyway.”

Flint sighed and it was only because of the warmth from the liquor that he would indulge Silver for the moment. He pulled a thick musty blanket from the cupboard that would work well enough to dry Silver off. He offered it to him and sat back in his chair. “What then?”

Silver held the blanket for a moment as if it were fragile. He opened his mouth but then stopped and closed it again. 

Flint raised an eyebrow. “You dry yourself off with it.”

“Yes, thank you. I understand the function.” Silver held the blanket away from his soaked body and searched Flint’s face. “But if I’m just going right back out into the water, there’s not much of a point to it.”

Flint made sure his expression stayed sharp and menacing. “Why are you here?”

Silver breathed deeply and drips of water slid from his hair and down his neck, over the hollow of his throat, disappearing under his shirt. “I know how this will sound, and I know you have no reason to believe me. But I can’t _not_ tell you. It’s too important.”

“Does it have anything to do with the Urca or her treasure?”

“No, it’ s more what happens after we obtain it.”

Reminders of Gates utterly not understanding, accusing him of betrayal when it was anything but. His voice was harsh and impatient. “And what exactly happens after we obtain it?”

Silver looked him over, still holding the blanket at a distance but his arm wavered. The distress was plain on his face and he swayed with the waves rocking the ship. “There are members of your crew who are, likely at this very moment, plotting to kill you. Perhaps they’ll simplify it to mutiny but they spoke of you dying once we have the gold.”

The fact that his crew wanted him dead was hardly a revelation. But Flint still swallowed and something like nervousness churned in his stomach. He didn’t fear death. He’d been begging for it to claim him ever since they’d received word from England of how Lord Thomas Hamilton couldn’t be saved from his grief. 

Only the thought of leaving Miranda alone, with no one to protect or defend her, had kept Flint from following suit. He couldn’t say that he hadn’t indirectly tried in other ways, but he had to keep Thomas’ dream alive. After Flint had managed that for him, then maybe he wouldn’t be so lost to despair himself. 

Silver shivered and pushed his hair away from his face. “I’m sure you’ll assume that I’m just trying to win favor with you. Or that I’m playing games to keep you at odds with your crew. But… I’m not. I don’t know what to do to convince you. But I happened to overhear and I had to at least warn you.”

Flint watched him sharply. What did Silver have to gain from this besides theoretical privilege with the captain? If his intent was to make Flint suspicious of everyone or prove him capable of turning on his own men, Flint already assumed the one and the the crew already believed other. Perhaps it was for a larger share of gold or for Flint not to kill him. Or for more sex or a kiss that he seemed to want so badly. None of it really mattered. They’d all be returned to the sea eventually. “Why? What made you trudge all the way back here through a storm battering the weather deck just to warn me that my quartermaster is plotting to kill me?”

Silver stared wide eyed, stunned into silence. “You know? How do you know? Or do you believe me and you just guessed?”

Flint moved both cups he and Gates had used closer to him. “It’s not difficult to believe there are people who want me dead. And Mr. Dufresne hardly manages to contain his distaste for me.”

Silver didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He frowned with his brows knit together. “You’re not worried? It doesn’t bother you at all?”

Flint shrugged and picked up his cup to finish off his single glass. “It’s not abnormal to wish me dead. And there’s a good chance all of us will die in the morning which would take them down with me and make this irrelevant.”

For a moment, Silver looked supremely distressed. “That’s less than comforting.” 

He wasn’t here to be comforting, and he could guess Silver’s motives on this. He wanted Flint to think they were on the same side. 

No one was on Flint’s side anymore. Not even Miranda. If she ever had been. He honestly wasn’t sure. He knew why she took care of him and looked out for him and put up with him, and he’d never doubt her loyalty or the goodness of her kind heart. But she didn’t do it for Flint or because of him or some bond that they had. 

He wished sometimes that she wasn’t so loving and devoted. He didn’t deserve it, and she should have someone who could return such care and commitment. Flint no longer had the capacity. He couldn’t even love Miranda sufficiently. But he, and the few remaining people he cared for, wouldn’t be punished because Flint made a life with her. 

He pulled out the bottle, twisted the cork from it, and poured a modest amount into one of the tin mugs. “You want something comforting?” Flint nudged the cup toward Silver and filled his part way. “There. And you might as well take your jacket off and ring it out so you can warm up.”

Silver watched his eyes, tried to read his face, but didn’t say whether or not he came up with an answer. But he did shrug off his jacket. And his shirt. Flint averted his gaze and turned it on the cup in his hand and the liquid sloshing in it while Silver rung the water from his clothes and hung them to dry a little. He did the same to his hair and Flint caught a glimpse of the rivulets running from his dark curls and down over the lean muscles in his chest, arms, and stomach. He was so smooth and gorgeously tanned. 

Flint studied the compass sitting on his desk and watched the arrow waver until Silver sat in the chair opposite him, wrapped in the blanket. 

He held his cup between both hands and grinned at Flint as he sipped. “You know every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”

Flint snorted, but didn’t look at him. Very few people could manage to read him at all, but he had a feeling Silver would be one of them. “Don’t assume that any of this makes us _friends_ ,” he snarled the feigned word that Silver had so vacuously tossed at him after he’d stolen the page and been caught. 

“No, I don’t imagine we would ever be friends.” Silver’s eyes were dark and intently focused. He brushed hair from his face that was starting to curl more now that it wasn’t drenched. “Something else, perhaps.”

With the way Silver looked at him as if saturated in longing as much as he had been in the waves and rain of the storm, Flint could imagine exactly what sort of _something else_ Silver had in mind. “Not if we fail tomorrow and die. Nor if we succeed.” 

Silver drew the blanket close around his body and had he been anyone else, it might’ve been concern written on his face. “You have such a hopeless outlook on the future. I know you want to succeed here and that you’re completely determined to make it happen. And I think that you would do anything you could in order to obtain that gold.”

“Your point?”

“That even success sounds like defeat the way you talk about it.”

Flint drank and reminded himself not to down the whole cup or any more from the bottle. “Everything depends on how you look at the situation at hand. It’s realistic.”

“We’re talking more gold than most people would conceivably know what to do with. We could go anywhere, do anything, and have any life we wanted.” Silver’s voice had grown soft but it was full of tenor like glowing embers of a fire. “There’d be no need to worry about starving or where to find your next meal. No need to be employed by greedy men who work you to exhaustion and only pay you in scraps. You could live somewhere, away from the sea, away from the violence and the death and the torture. We could be free.”

Flint swallowed hard and felt his chest drawn tight. When Silver spoke, it didn’t matter what he said. There was inflection and rhythm that made his voice like music. It was impassioned and wistful, and enthralling.

“Isn’t there something you want to do with that gold that would bring you at least a measure of happiness?” He looked Flint over, searching with his eyes that were far too blue and far too striking. Just like his expressive, impossibly attractive face, the solid lines of his neck, his skilled, thick fingers, and the slender bow of his mouth.

Flint finished his cup and stared at it instead. “Find relief. A life that isn’t…” The only words that came to him were emptiness, fear, painful, and anything that had to do with being trapped and miserable. They were far too revealing. 

“Isn’t what?” Silver tipped his head to the side and it made his hair touch the blanket and darken it with wetness. “What life would you want?”

He knew Silver didn’t really care, but his mask of sympathy was entirely convincing. “Something inland. Enough that there’s no more ocean. Where everything is lush and green instead of blue. Somewhere with trees and warmth. A house where I can have books. As many as I want.” It wasn’t the primary truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. What he wanted most was impossible. Thomas was gone forever and Flint would never have anything like that again. So that was the life he’d ask for. It was the one he could have if they managed to make it through. 

Silver nodded quietly, drank from his mug, and let his tongue trail along his lips. “Would you be alone in this house? Or is someone there with you?”

Flint’s jaw tightened and he took deep breaths. There was too much liquor, too much heat, and far too much need swirling together inside him to answer such a question. Miranda would be with him theoretically, but any answer he gave Silver would be too incendiary. “You should go.”

Silver moved and the blanket he held tightly around his chest fell open. “Should I? Because I don’t have to.”

“We had an agreement. One night. Nothing more.”

Silver spread his thighs, the wet fabric clung to his muscular limbs and plainly showed off how much he disagreed with the parameters Flint had set. “You’re not even a little tempted? It’s been a long few days. I imagine tomorrow and what follows will be even more arduous. And like you said, we could all die and make this irrelevant. Is it so excessive to include once more?”

“Yes,” Flint said and his voice was rough and raspy. If he went back on it now and just gave in, how could he ever stop?

The corners of Silver’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “You’re worried you’ll just keep wanting me. Aren’t you. It might not ever be enough, even if we had tonight. Even if we had a hundred nights.”

The storm outside beat harder against the glass windows, rocking the ship and taking them over waves that made Flint’s stomach drop. “You’re fucking egotistical. And delusional.”

Silver moved his hand between his legs and rested it over the hard shape pulling at the seams of his trousers. “Am I? Prove me wrong.”

“I don’t have the need to debase myself just to prove a point.” 

Silver’s hand rubbed back and forth through the cloth. His deep eyes fixed on Flint in challenge. 

Flint glared and watched Silver’s eyes instead of his hand. “Do that all you want. You are not fucking touching me.”

Silver’s gaze didn’t leave Flint’s, but he opened his trousers and sat back in his seat. He pulled his hard, flushed cock free of his clothes and made a show of wrapping his fingers around himself and sliding his hand along his length. 

Aching heat flooded through Flint and he gripped the edge of his desk. Silver’s chest heaved with slow pants, and Flint could remember the shivers Silver’s breath caused on his own skin. He wanted to cover Silver in teethmarks and leave his chest and stomach with signs of how he’d been claimed by his captain. 

Silver’s mouth fell open with low, quiet moans, and his lips were wet and more than a little inviting. “You could have your hands on me you know. You could have your mouth on me. God. You could have your cock in me.” He lifted himself and arched into his hand like it was the lover he was craving. 

Flint twisted in his seat even though he knew it wouldn’t become more comfortable. His breathing was fast enough that it matched Silver’s. His heart pounded and made his whole body throb. His hands were starting to ache from how tightly they were clenched on the desk and his empty cup.

Both of Silver’s hands went to his cock, one gripping and squeezing the base, the other sliding over the dripping head. Flint licked his lips and wanted to taste him. He knew what Silver tasted like therefore he didn’t actually need to have it again. He shouldn’t have it again, but he wanted regardless of any reason. 

Silver’s head fell back as he cupped his balls and let his fingers spread the drops of fluid over his skin. “Fuck. I want you. I loved fucking you. I love the way you smell and the way you feel. God, I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you come inside me.”

Flint closed his eyes and tension pulled hard inside him. Not seeing didn’t help. He could still hear those fucking obscene moans and words. He could smell Silver as if sex and desire and need were as vibrantly fragrant as smoke and sweat. 

Silver stroked himself in a rapidly harder rhythm as he squirmed and gasped like all he wanted was release. “Are you really just going to sit there and watch me and not touch me?” He sounded pained and stretched thin. 

It was all Flint could do hold himself back. “Tell me,” he rasped, his own voice clouded with need. “What you’d want me to do.”

A strangled moan left Silver and his eyes locked on Flint’s. “I want you to grip my hair and throw me over your desk and fuck me right here. I would take it. I would take all of it. I want you to fuck me like that wild, feral animal I saw when we first met. Fuck, I want you so badly.” 

Hot shivers coasted over Flint’s body and his own cock ached but he couldn’t touch. He wouldn’t. It would be too close to actually fucking. But Silver’s eyes bore into him and he couldn’t look away. 

“I want your mouth on mine. I want to know how your beard feels against my lips. I want you to possess me. And fuck me. And kiss me. I want…” His breath hitched and his hand sped to a frantic, sloppy rhythm. “I want you. Please. Captain, please.”

Flint could barely speak without letting out a choked moan himself. “Finish. Let me watch.”

Silver whimpered and an obvious frown wrinkled his brow, but then his eyes fluttered closed and he jerked in his chair, splattering his stomach and chest in thick white bursts. He let out an exhausted, deep whine and sagged in his seat as little tremors made his muscles twitch. 

Flint swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying to make his breath something regulated and more normal. He let Silver rest for a moment while he tried to temper the need surging in his blood, but that was all. “It's time for you to go. You have responsibilities to attend to.”

Silver looked at him with what might have been a sad, pleading expression, but he said nothing, and instead, cleaned himself off with the blanket. He dressed even though the clothes stuck to his skin, but might feel nice with the way he had been flushed, and handed Flint the blanket. “Thanks for the drink.” He smiled like he was far to pleased with himself, but he left without another word. 

Flint covered himself with the blanket and shoved his hand into his own trousers until he found the same release that Silver had. The sooner this hunt for the Urca was all over with and the sooner Silver was far away from him the better.


	6. Cannon Fire 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Spanish warship appears instead of the Urca, and Flint and Silver do everything they can to keep fighting for the gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: canon level violence and murder badness

The crew rose early as if invigorated by the clear, sunny morning and the prospect of finally taking the Urca’s gold. They would soon find themselves free of poverty, starvation, cruel employers, and terrible professions; they’d never be subjugated to others’ wishes by force or necessity. Even Silver had been able to find rest during the storm by curling up near the cooking fire to dry off. Though it was hardly where he would have preferred to spend the night keeping warm. 

While the rest of the crew prepared the ship for battle, Randall had him tending a pot of eggs that were boiling in their shells. The momentary chill from the night before had long passed, and sweat beaded on Silver’s skin from standing so near the fire now. Watching water boil was about as fascinating as it seemed, and his mind was left to wander. 

It didn’t have to be Flint with whom he shared a bed. It could be anyone. He enjoyed how it felt sleeping next to someone, and it happened so rarely. Even when the heat was scorching, he loved bare skin against his and needy moans gasped into his mouth. He wanted to feel the solid weight and warmth of someone else pressed against his own body and he wanted them held securely in his arms. He wanted it to last for longer than a frantic moment, longer than a single night. 

Perhaps because he’d spent almost every minute of his life either by himself or surrounded by people who the best thing they did to him was ignore him. Receiving attention wasn’t always a good thing. But maybe after thirty some years, he’d just worn out his tolerance for being alone so often. 

He needed someone he could talk to, even if they didn’t listen and disagreed with what he said. It didn’t matter how differently they viewed the world or what their values were. As long as they didn’t beat or abuse him or anyone else, he enjoyed their company. 

Having friends was a luxury but a nice one while it lasted. He just had to accept that it wouldn’t last. If he wanted to survive, he couldn’t be stuck worrying about someone else. He was as good as dead if he did. 

Even while working on a ship, that notion was difficult to leave behind. He knew some men who were fiercely loyal, who would fight for and protect the crewmen they called brothers. But they so often ended up destroyed by painful or tragic fates, how could anyone think their example was a prudent one? 

Silver had heard different versions of what happened to Billy. But he had a feeling, more than anything else, that his generous loyalty was what had killed him. 

When Randall made yelling noises, Silver scooped the eggs from the boiling water and placed them in a pot of cooler water as he’d been instructed. He took a moment to splash some of it on his face before he sat and watched Randall show him how to cook rice and dried beans with pickled pork and spices. 

Maybe Flint was right. He feared they wouldn’t be able to stop fucking if they started up again, and it was a reasonable assumption. They couldn’t get too attached to each other for any reason. 

The rush he got from feeling Flint against him was so powerful and intense, it was addictive. It made him stupid with how much he wanted. Flint’s unrelenting presence, the salty, musky scent of his body, the heat from his touch, the simmering dark fury that could snap and leave Silver wrecked at any moment — it was difficult to ignore. He was everything Silver had ever wanted in a partner, wrapped up in a dangerous, gorgeous, secretive man. 

But there were plenty of other people in the world. It wasn’t as if he’d seek Flint out just for sex once they parted ways. Once Silver had the money and means to do so, he could do whatever he wanted. He’d find someone else who was beautiful and strong and made him delirious with need. There were always varying degrees of satiated, but anyone could keep him warm at night.

He should forget the idea of getting Flint to give in to him. If Flint had been able to resist him last night, after everything Silver did to entice him, after he begged for Flint to fuck him, it was doubtful that having him was even possible. Even if they had sex again, there was no guarantee that it would be worth it. After all the ways Silver had imagined it and built it up, disappointment was likely the only outcome. 

There were far more important things to concern himself with. Flint might not be bothered by the prospect of his own death, but Silver was. How could anyone go through a day and not be weighed down by the fact that almost everyone around you wanted you dead? It had to speak toward Flint’s tenacity that there had been so many attempts on his life and he was still standing.

But there was a nagging, digging worm of a feeling that told him Flint wished for death. It was woven through him as if it were threads tying his soul together. He was probably reserved naturally, but something had rent him into jagged pieces and stitched him together with misery. Silver had watched him enough to know that a true smile from him was rare and that real joy was practically unheard of. 

If he found no pleasure or happiness in his life as it was and even as could be with wealth beyond reason, there had to be something in his past that money couldn’t replace. There was a reason Flint kept himself so isolated. 

He’d been shattered by something that was done to him or something that was taken from him. If only Silver could figure out what it was. If only Flint would just let him know, Silver could do something for him. While he was still one of Flint’s crew anyway. 

What would happen to Silver, to all of them, if Flint gave up? If Dufresne and his accomplices succeeded? He needed Flint. They all needed Flint. There would be no prize without him. 

The crew filtered through the galley one by one and ate quickly. There was a constant hum of chatter and excitement, everyone running on the thrill surging in their blood of what was to come. They prepared weapons, readied battle stations, and Silver listened near the stairs but would much rather stay below with Randall and far away from the fighting. 

Eerie silence fell over the ship when they approached the bay. But Silver didn’t have to leave his position where he listened in relative safety before he heard. The captain had returned to his cabin and all the men spoke of how there was no Urca. The bay was empty. 

It couldn’t be empty. Both he and Flint had determined this as the location. Either the schedule was wrong or the Urca had yet to reach the bay, and Silver knew for sure which position he would rather argue with the crew. And which he’d rather believe. It had to be out there. They couldn’t give up yet. 

Silver started up the stairs, but several angry crewmen stormed down them at the same time. He opted to avoid them and hide in the shadows instead. A few went to the galley and rifled through the pantry but didn’t take any food to eat. The others went to the room for Dr. Howell’s surgeries, and Silver didn’t have to recognize the voices to know who was behind the door. 

“How much longer are we going to put up with this?” De Groot’s question was more growl than speech. “We suffer unending losses, dwindling resources, months without income just so he can pretend this fantasy of his is more than the delusions of a madman.”

“I understand your anger,” Dufresne said, apparently trying to be diplomatic. “But there is no cause to move against him just yet.”

“No cause? What about Billy? And Singleton? What about that fucking thieving whore in the galley who should be at the end of a rope?”

Silver flinched at the words and his stomach churned with a hot, nauseating surge of bile. It left the taste of acid in his mouth. It was hardly the first time he was called such things, and he’d even been called worse, but the fact that De Groot so vividly wanted him dead was unsettling to say the least. He’d figure out a way out of this. He had to. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t afraid. 

“You know he can’t be trusted,” De Groot continued. “Either of them. They’re in this together and we’re all going to die because of it.”

“We’re not—”

“Yes, we will. We should have made that thief pay for what he did while we still could. But we let him get away with it when we all know Randall is no liar. And for what. Money? Is that worth the sacrifice of our ethics? Of morality? Now, he’s spent God knows how much time seducing the captain, and there’s no way to separate their lies and their influence from the crew. We’re disposable to them and whatever their goal is. They’ll both see all of us dead.”

That was more than a little harsh. Why would Silver wish death on any of the crew? He hardly knew them and didn’t plan on sticking around to get to know them. And for that matter, why would Flint want any of them dead either? What sort of morals and ethics did De Groot have anyway. Was a pirate not, by his very nature, also a thief? 

Dufresne still tried for calmness. “I feel the same about the cook, you know that, but we have a plan. The men are checking our stores as we speak, and if there’s any chance of taking the Urca as a prize, we have to endure Flint a little longer.”

De Groot scoffed. “There’s no Urca out here. There won’t be any prize. They’re both fucking with our heads just because the captain has gone utterly mad. Justice has been delayed long enough. Once we make landfall, Flint must be tried for all his crimes against us. He must be stopped before this goes any further and we’re all thrown to the sea like Billy.”

Dufresne made a heavy sighing noise. “Mr. Gates will be here shortly. I will converse with him and relay all your concerns.”

“Gates won’t let this happen. They’ve been friends for too long. He’ll tell you exactly that and that you must discuss reality instead. As if we’re the ones who have lost our minds.”

Silver was so intent on listening to the conversation through the door, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard someone behind him. 

“I don’t believe it’s polite to listen in on other people’s conversations, Mr. Silver.” Dr. Howell stood behind him, a tense, perhaps even distressed expression on his face. 

“I was…” Silver started, but what could he say? “Do you honestly believe I want anyone to die today? Because I can assure you that I prefer to stay far away from battles and death and violence of any kind.”

Howell looked him over and dropped his arms from his tense stance. “I don’t mean this as a threat,” he said gently. “It’s a warning. I do believe you did what you had to in order to stay alive. If you wish to survive this, you should reconsider your position at the captain’s side.”

The immediate twist in his gut made Silver want to assert that Howell didn’t know anything, that none of his relationship with Flint meant anything. But it would sound far too defensive. “All I want out of this is my share of the treasure. Nothing else is important.”

Howell sighed and seemed to look sad, like he pitied Silver. “Don’t let yourself be taken in by him. He doesn’t care about you, no matter how it may seem. He doesn’t care for anyone.” He rested his hand on Silver’s upper arm for a second and then returned to the stairs, leaving all of them below. 

Whatever else De Groot and the quartermaster had to say, Silver didn’t want to listen. He returned to the galley and sat between a sack of rice and a barrel that held fruit. It was always possible this was an attempt to divide them so that they didn’t have to worry about Silver when they attacked the captain. If it was, the doctor might be more exploitative than Flint. 

But Silver knew liars. He knew manipulation and callousness, and Dr. Howell’s demeanor had no traces of anything malicious or deceitful. He’d always seemed to remain as neutral as possible. Maybe it was a feint but there was no indication that Howell was anything but straightforward. 

He heard the others go up top when there was news of Gates’ arrival. But Silver remained where he was. 

The gold was all he cared about. If Howell intended to turn Silver to their side, how did he know that he would survive by siding with the crew and not Flint? They could turn on him just as easily. But even Dufresne knew that they needed Flint if they had any hope of getting the treasure. 

Silver would not be dragged down with anyone. He and Flint would benefit from working together, but he’d never do it at his own detriment. Silver’s life was far more important. He would not end up like Billy. Or some star-crossed, woeful lover for that matter. He wouldn’t die for anyone.

Randall hobbled over to him, still refusing to wear the prosthetic leg Howell had made for him. He didn’t say anything but he stared at Silver like he might be worried. 

Silver sighed and looked up at him. “I don’t know what to do, Randall. I was so certain.” Was abandoning Flint truly an option? Why would anyone else have interest in allowing Silver to live? What made him believe Flint would care? “The gold is out there, and Flint is the only one who has any hope of locating and obtaining it for us. But what happens then? What happens now if we can’t find that ship?”

Randall remained quiet, and it wasn’t as if Silver expected otherwise, but something would have been nice. 

“Do you think the captain doesn’t care about anyone? That he would really see all of us dead?”

Randall tipped his head to the side and his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t save me.”

Silver let out a bitter laugh. There was ingratitude and then there was… He looked at Randall’s stump of a leg. It may have been his idea, but he wasn’t the one who chopped the leg off and pulled Randall out of danger. Who knew why Flint had fought so hard to rescue Randall from being crushed by the ship. It might have been purely to look better in front of the crew. But he’d still risked his life to do it. And he didn’t have to. 

He wasn't being deluded into following Flint. He knew more, understood far more about him than they did. No one would convince him to give up on this. He stood and squeezed Randall’s shoulders. “I’ll return shortly. Stay out of the way if there’s any fighting. I don’t want to see you dead either.” At the very least, Silver had to argue that they could still win the Urca. If there was any chance of survival and him living to escape, he needed that gold.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emptiness was its own emotion. It had a feeling that was distinct but a still blend of draining, excruciating, loneliness, numbness, disappointment, and despair that would slowly pervade or strike all at once, and suddenly, Flint was left with nothing.

Sometimes, if he was lucky, it simply covered him like a draping of cool cloth and made him quiet and gutted, but too hollow to feel anything. Other times, it was a shot through his chest and blood pouring everywhere with no way to stop it. He wouldn’t be able to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to move anywhere without sending sharp stabs of pain throughout his body.

The vacant bay was somewhere in between. Unexpected and sudden, but more fear rather than pain. They could wait here for the Urca to appear and he could send men out to search for alternate locations, but if they had no luck? If they couldn’t find that treasure galleon, what would he do? 

The first impulse he had was to have someone bring him Silver because he was sure if anyone could help him figure this out, it would be him. He was quick and clever, and there was a certain appeal in working with a partner. Someone to temper extremes and offer alternate ideas. Someone who would support his decisions and help him carry them out. 

The ideas that Thomas had were revolutionary and he loved to discuss scenarios and debate on the different outcomes. They were a good team. If Thomas hadn’t been taken from him, they could have accomplished anything. 

Flint couldn’t send for Silver. Wouldn’t. No one could take Thomas’ place. Flint would never let anyone try. 

The Spanish sails on the horizon brought hope and then Flint knew there was only one course of action. They had to take down that warship. There would be no way to win the treasure without doing so. 

But Gates wouldn’t listen. He didn’t understand and wouldn’t believe him. After all their years sailing together, Flint had thought Gates would trust his judgment. Shouldn’t he have some kind of faith in Flint’s abilities? In his knowledge of ship-to-ship confrontations? How could Gates walk away now when they were so close to having that treasure?

There was a reason he needed a consort for this mission. There was a reason he trusted Gates to captain it and follow his lead. How could he do this? “Without the Ranger, I have no chance against that ship.”

Gates answered as if he was regretful of his decision, but it was the same placating, superior tone he offered when he thought Flint was being outlandish and unreasonable. “I know.”

There was his answer. The only man he could even possibly call friend was going to betray him. After everything. He’d hoped their time drinking and laughing, remembering good times together would have reminded Hal at least a little of how he meant something to Flint. There was a connection and a history, how could it end this way? “So, you’re deliberately challenging my authority here? Deliberately violating your duty.”

“My duty?” Gates’ anger flared and turned him from a consort captain into a man scolding an unruly child. “My duty is to them, not to you. Although I have violated it more times than I can remember in your defense. Helped you deceive good men who put their trust in me because I was convinced they would be better off for it. Well, not here. Not this. This is fucking madness.”

Flint clenched his jaw and wanted nothing more than to prove him undoubtedly, irrefutably wrong. “Mr. Gates, if you walk through that door with the intent of subverting my plans, I will have no alternative but to interpret that as an incitement of mutiny.”

Gate stopped and seemed incredulous at the accusation. “You think I’m inciting a mutiny?”

“You are inciting it.”

“I’m managing one! There are men out there right now that know about Singleton. The book. The cook. All of it. They know. And they mean to see you hanged for it.”

Flint’s heart stopped. He didn’t usually think of it as alive and functioning, but he felt it not beat. They wouldn’t hang him because of his affair with Silver. They weren’t like that. It wasn’t about that. It couldn’t be. Not again. But how could they know about the stolen page? “You told them?”

“After Billy, I just… I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t.”

How could Gates betray them? When he knew it would put them in danger? Because Flint was and always had been a monster. Was there anyone alive who would argue otherwise? Flint couldn’t argue such a thing. 

“That’s when I realized, this has got to end.” The way Gates finished his last words made the finality unambiguous. He meant not just their working arrangement on the ship. He meant an end to everything. They really wouldn’t see each other ever again. He wasn’t going to protest because it wasn’t worth begging anyone to change their mind, but how could it really be over?

“So, what then?” If this was the end, Flint’s end, would his crew really be the one to do it? He had told Silver it wasn’t surprising, and he couldn’t say he was shocked, but maybe he’d had hope that at least one person would hate to see him killed. “You preside over a trial that sees me hanged?”

“No,” he said as if there was another outcome. “We’re going to go home, and I will see you and Mrs. Barlow secreted away before anybody knows you’re gone.”

Again sneaking off in the middle of the night with Miranda, leaving behind everything, always starting over. 

“You’re gonna go to Boston. You’re gonna take the pardon that she’s offered you. And that is the last that you and I will ever see of each other.”

Walls were closing in on him, water was surrounding him and pulling him under. That couldn’t be his life. This couldn’t be the end of Thomas’ dream. “Please.” Would he have to marry Miranda? How could he pretend to be her happy husband who loved to have people over for discussions and meals, who loved to talk with them for hours and loved helping them and being with them and saw the good in everyone and brought out the best in everyone. She loved people. Thomas loved people. Flint… did not. 

He’d imagined leaving the sea eventually and living inland where it was quiet and green. But it was supposed to in Nassau. Where Thomas would have been with them. Where something of Thomas felt like it still remained there. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Gates said, ignorant of all the pain he caused. Conceding defeat, giving up and failing Thomas was far worse than death. “Take a moment. I’ll deal with them.” 

This was why he never trusted Gates with any information. This was why he couldn’t trust anyone. They all just turned on him. He should have been used to betrayal and abandonment, and having everything he worked for, everything he cared about being ripped from him, but it didn’t assuage the feeling of having a knife jabbed into his back. Or the rage that boiled in his blood at being forced into this. Again. 

His life couldn’t be Boston. There was nothing for him there. He couldn’t take the pardon. He couldn’t be trapped, he couldn’t let Thomas down, he couldn’t fail him again. He wouldn’t let them be right in what they had done to him and to Thomas. He couldn’t go back to having nothing.

And then he was angry at Gates for forcing it on him. For betraying him and not understanding even though Flint couldn’t tell him anything. He had to stop it. He needed that gold. He needed to keep fighting. He’d rather die than just give up on Thomas. He’d rather die than let them take away what he and Thomas were to each other. 

It was easier than it should be to take what was his only friend and snap his neck, to wrench his body until it was limp and lifeless. And he hated himself for it. 

They always called him a monster. Since before he could remember — he was strange and wrong, always worthless, and then profane and loathsome. He’s done some unforgivable things, but never like this. This made those epithets reality. 

Even Thomas would never forgive him for resorting to this. It wasn’t excusable for any reason, but especially not as an excuse to restore Nassau. He wanted less bloodshed, not more. 

But the world wasn’t the way Thomas saw it. Flint wasn’t the man Thomas loved. Why had Thomas ever loved him? He wouldn’t have if he had known what James was capable of. 

He cradled Gates’ body gently and begged for forgiveness. If not God’s, then Thomas’ and Hal’s. He wouldn’t expect any of them to absolve him, but he had to apologize anyway. Not for himself, for them. He never wanted to hurt anyone. He never wanted to wield death and torment and rage as his weapons. 

How did he become this? Why was he always so furious? Why did everything feel like horrible wounds constantly slicing through his whole being? 

Sobs started like they’d been ripped from his chest by sharp hooks. How could he go on after this? The crew would execute him. The Urca was nowhere to be found. There was nothing. And he’d never see Thomas again. 

The door opened and he drew his pistol, ready to fire on anyone who would intrude on his cabin and bear witness to him like this. 

Silver raised his hands in surrender and stopped in the doorway. “I came to lend credence to your case that the Urca is still to be won.” 

Of course it was him. Who else would barge in here like this? What would Silver think of him? Would he see what Flint really was? Would he really be so eager for Flint to lay his hands on him now? He could shoot Silver or he could simply shoot himself and be done with everything. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but lower his gun. There was no point to anything now. 

Silver shut and locked the door behind him, and then hurried over and started pawing through Gates’ clothes. 

How dare Silver lay a hand on him? Rifling through his pockets just for trinkets? How dare Silver defile him? “What the fuck are you doing to him?” 

“Making sure there’s nothing incriminating—”

“Stop, stop.” He shoved Silver’s hands away. No one should touch Gates. No one should try to aid Flint. He couldn’t be saved. There was nothing left for him but a noose and an eternity of torment. It was hard to believe there would be any hell that was comparable to his life the last ten years. Perhaps it would simply be this. Always reaching, never succeeding, always pushing that rock up a hill only to have it crash down upon him, always having his organs ripped from his body. His heart torn from him, then isolated, tortured, and lost to grief. “There’s no way out of this.”

He lifted his hand and stroked Gates’ head, hoping his friend would be welcomed and absolved and at peace. 

“Take it from me,” Silver’s words felt oddly kind, laced with something gentle and temperate. “There’s always a way.”

Flint’s heart stumbled but beat again. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible. But it felt like both. He looked to Silver and the illusion didn’t fade. It had to be a trick, but Flint couldn’t find the deception in it. All he heard were Thomas’ words. 

_Anything that seems impossible has solutions. There’s always a way. We just have to find it._

Silver wasn’t Thomas. He would never be. But the unbending optimism, the striking intelligence and charisma, the unashamed, beautiful confidence — they were the same. If he thought about it, which he was absolutely not going to do, he might even find more things they had in common. 

Flint swallowed hard and his vision flooded. It had already been watery and full of unshed tears, but they threatened to fall. He looked down and tried to blink them away. 

Silver rested a hand on Flint’s arm. “Come here. Please?”

His chest was stretched tight and it felt harder to draw breath, so Flint carefully let go and let Silver bring him to his feet and lead him closer to his desk. They stood facing each other, but Silver hesitated when he reached out, as if he were afraid of touching Flint. Perhaps he feared he’d be murdered as well. Flint bowed his head and couldn’t blame him. 

For some reason, Silver leaned in close and held onto Flint’s upper arms anyway. “It’s all right.”

Flint shook his head but rested his hands very lightly on Silver’s hips. If he could let himself hold on, he would. But he didn’t want to damage Silver. “It’s not. Don’t forgive me.”

Silver pulled him closer until there was no space between them and moved a fallen lock of hair out of Flint’s eyes. “The Urca is out there. I want that gold just as badly as you do, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen.” His voice was soft and sweet like melodic honey, something clear and delicate that clung to Flint and refused to be removed. 

Their hunt didn’t matter any more. None of it did. They wouldn’t be able to find that ship. No one would believe a lie of self-defense to explain this away. Silver only cared about the money. Flint was a means to an end. But he needed right now. Just for a moment. He needed a man who was long dead, but this was all he had. Flint touched his forehead to Silver’s and closed his eyes.

Silver’s hands were warm and steady. One curled around the back of Flint’s neck, one rested on the left side of his chest. “You asked me why I came back here in the middle of a storm just to warn you. I didn’t want them to kill you. I don’t want to see you dead.”

Flint let out a long breath and ran a hand over Silver’s back. “A little late for that.”

Sliver pulled away and shook his head. “When you go out there, tell them his heart gave out. Tell them he collapsed and stopped breathing. Tell them anything you think they might believe. There is no way to prove what happened. There is no way to prove anything.”

Flint scoffed. “They blame me for Billy and he fell.”

Silver looked him over as if he was debating what he’d been told against Flint’s words. “Let them believe whatever they like. That man o’ war is coming and we’ll be immersed in battle before they have any chance of stopping it and dealing with something else.” 

When Silver spoke, it seemed possible. As if he could achieve it through sheer willpower in defiance of anyone who thought otherwise. 

If they could manage this, then they could have that gold. The Urca would’t have defenses more extreme than a warship, and once they found her, he could take the gold home and buy Nassau safety and freedom. “And you? What will you do?”

“I’ll stay here in case anyone, such as your quartermaster, wants to see for himself what happened to Gates, and I’ll tell him what is going to happen regardless. That we are going to take down the man o’ war. That we will have the Urca gold.” Silver rested his hands on Flint’s chest, touching him gently, almost affectionately. “Do you trust me enough to do that?”

The concept in question made his skin cold and itchy. He didn’t trust anyone. But he didn’t have many other options. “I don’t have a choice.”

A crinkle of a frown appeared on Silver’s face and his hands left Flint’s body. “It’s not a demand. It’s not even a requirement for making this work. So, I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll make this happen anyway.”

Flint reached for him out of instinct and pulled Silver into his arms. He couldn’t give Silver what he wanted, Flint didn’t have a heart that would make it real, but he kissed Silver on the curve of his cheek and let his lips rest there as if he could make it permanent. Silver wouldn’t care about such a thing, but maybe when this was all over, he would remember Flint gave him as much as he could. 

Silver’s hands dug into his back and he leaned into Flint’s body as if he welcomed the gesture. Perhaps Silver would care. He always seemed so eager, and Flint couldn’t understand why. If it was just sex, there were plenty of men on the ship, and most of them were fond of visiting the brothel back home. There were other options if Silver simply needed release. 

None of that mattered now. Flint let go of Silver and steeled himself before facing the crew and heading into battle. 

He reported the lie, as Silver suggested, but quickly moved on to orders on how to fight the warship, and while Dufresne had to see the body for himself, somehow Silver did manage to elicit his cooperation. He might be able to talk anyone into anything if that really was the case. 

Once Dufresne walked away, Silver came and stood at his side, looking up at Flint as if waiting for instructions. Or perhaps simply to show his allegiance, dangerous as it may be. “I believe I thoroughly terrified him. He may even believe I was the one at fault. Either way, they have been worried about you and I working together. This is bound to agitate them.”

“That’s not important.” If Flint said it enough, maybe he could convince himself. But the crew’s opinion mattered. They needed to listen to him and take orders from him. Anything he did right now would easily get him removed as captain. “How good is your Spanish?”

Silver shrugged. “I’m better with French and Italian, but I know enough. Why?”

“I want you to be the one who converses with the Spaniards. I’ll tell you what to say and how to respond.”

“Because…” Silver tipped his head like he was thinking. “I look like I could possibly be Spanish?”

“There’s a chance someone could recognize me or my ship. Because you look far less threatening.” Flint bent lower and spoke near Silver’s ear so only he could hear. “Because you’re charming. And the only one on this ship I would even remotely trust to do this right now.”

A wide, brilliant grin spread over Silver’s face. “I’ll do anything you ask, Captain.”

As long as it kept Silver working with him, Flint would tolerate the seductive lilt to Silver’s words. It did make his sworn alliance sound more genuine. In a strange way. 

He directed most of the crew to the gun deck while he sat above them near the rail, hidden from view, with Silver standing beside him, repeating the words Flint gave him. The ship passed them regardless of what they said their trade was, just as he predicted. Their job wasn’t patrolling the coast. He knew it wouldn’t be. If nothing else, that had to prove it to the crew. He ordered them to their stations, ready to lead this charge.

Silver smiled warmly at him until De Groot approached them. “I believe you have a job you’re supposed to be attending to right now, Mr. Silver.”

Silver looked to Flint like he expected him to intervene. Or maybe, that pleading, distressed expression he wore meant he was worried. Concerned at least. It was a good act, and hard not to believe. But it would be better if Silver was away from the worst of the fighting. Flint nodded to him, and Silver glanced between him and De Groot before leaving Flint’s side and returning to the galley. 

It didn’t matter if Silver was at his side or not. It didn’t matter if he was actually worried about Flint or if he just wanted Flint to believe they were on the same side so that he could obtain his gold. Silver didn’t matter to him. Flint turned his attention to directing the crew and readying them for battle. 

The Walrus turned as if she was drifting with the tides, and he checked the aim of all the cannons before standing at the top of the stairs and waiting for the warship to reach the perfect distance. 

As soon as it did, Dufresne made his move. And the crew refused to take Flint’s orders. He tried not to panic. He tried to ignore the stupidity and absolute lack of knowledge on when was a good time to open one’s fucking mouth, but it wasn’t enough to the crew. Dufresne might think he was doing them a favor by choosing now of all moments to intervene, but it was only taking away any chance they had of success. 

No matter how Flint yelled orders, none of them were followed. He’d lost his crew. He’d lost his ship. But he wouldn’t lose that warship. He wouldn’t lose his chance at the Urca. He’d fire on it himself. 

The shot in his back was rather poetic as much as it was infuriating. It sliced through his flesh and left his shoulder ripped and bleeding, but pain would hardly stop him. He tried again to fire even though he struggled to reach with only one arm, but Dufresne took that from him, too. 

What more could he do? Pain started radiating through his neck and down his back. He focused on breathing steadily and just letting the ache in his shoulder eclipse the deeper, more painful wounds carved into his heart. That shoulder wound was at least something strong enough to distract him from it. 

He crawled up into a sitting position where he could lean against the solid, wood of his ship. She would always be his ship. No matter what happened now. He turned and watched the warship out open port as it sailed further out of their reach. He’d been so close to achieving his goal, Thomas’ goal, why did it have to end this way?

He forced himself to look away and rested his head back. What would happen now? Would he even have a chance to tell Miranda goodbye? He doubted they’d let him live long enough to see Nassau again. What would happen to her without him? She was strong and resilient, and he knew she would survive. She may even be better off without him. She could move on and do whatever she wished. But she’d never know how sorry he was for everything he did and had forced her to endure.

The hissing sparks of fire were the first thing he heard before the explosion burst from one of their cannons. The crew startled and made shocked noises. Flint watched the shot fall short in the water, but only barely. They wouldn’t have any choice but to fight now. 

A smug satisfaction settled over him when Dufresne demanded to know who was shooting. As if he couldn’t guess. At least Silver really was as desperate for the treasure as Flint. Greed was something he could count on. 

Dufresne followed his direction and ordered the open fire, and Flint watched closely, engulfed in the smoke of cannon fire. It was far too messy. Far too chaotic. They’d waited too long and even though he couldn’t see through the smoke and couldn’t hear more than shouting and fired shots, it felt wrong.

He wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. He forced himself off his feet when Logan said the warship was coming about and yelled at everyone to fire before scaling the stairs up the quarterdeck. He managed to lean back and balance his telescope very gently on his forearm because moving it at all hurt like fuck. It was nothing compared to watching the warship turn and the gun ports swing open. 

Now it was over without question. They wouldn’t stand a chance. Everything was gone. He’d failed Thomas again. His one consolation as he was blown from the deck into the water was that perhaps the sea would be merciful and take him to his beloved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The shots broke through the walls of the ship and sent thousands of wood shards bursting above the deck. Silver covered his head with his arms, shielding his face, hopefully protecting his skull. The broken hull rained down on them, and the noise of the firing cannons and the destruction they wrought grew so loud and so numerous, he couldn’t hear anything else. Except for the screams from his crew mates.

He held a man who was bloody and whimpering and he yelled for the doctor, but Howell was nowhere to be seen. There were bodies and blood and mangled people everywhere. 

He swore he felt it when the man went quiet and stopped moving, and it made Silver sick and cold. He covered his ears and pushed hair out of his face, and wanted to make all the pain and loss and tragedy stop. 

Another round of blasts sounded, coming for the Walrus, sending a flurry of more debris into the air, enough that he didn't know how she wasn’t crumbling into the sea and taking all of them with her. Maybe that was exactly what was happening.

Had he made a mistake? He’d gambled everything he had on this one bet. Which wasn’t a lot, but his own life was worth something. Everything. He didn’t want to die. He was’t ready to die. If he were able to do everything all over again, would he make the same choices?

There was blood on his hands and blood in his eyes but he had no idea if it belonged to himself or to men who had been near him. 

The ship was rocked by more explosions and Silver looked around to find some way to escape this hell. Flint was higher up, near the rail, and took the hit of debris and the force of the blast. It sent him over the side and into the water. 

Silver didn’t think, he couldn’t. He ran up the stairs to where Flint had been standing. The water was full of frantic crewmen, a broken mast, ropes and splintered wood, rigging that could tangle as a net and drag someone to the bottom of the bay. And Flint in the middle of it. But he disappeared into the waves as if he had never learned how to swim. 

Silver remembered being terrified for his life so that he ran and jumped from the Walrus into the sea in order to escape Flint’s wrath. He heaved himself up on the ledge, and hoped for a better landing this time as he followed Flint into the water.


	7. Rescue Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you were sinking to the bottom of the sea, who do you imagine it was who dragged you onto that beach?"
> 
> Silver rescues Flint and ends up conflicted about all his tangled feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try and keep this as historically and medically accurate as possible so... it may go without saying, but don't follow any of Silver's rescue procedures. Some of it is incidentally correct but most is very inadvisable. And I write Howell as if he has actually attended medical school but even then, medicine in the early 1700s was only so advanced. So that is why there is an "inaccuracies" warning :)

The shock of unrelenting, tumultuous water was a jolt through Silver's whole body. It wasn’t as warm as in Nassau, though it could have been colder and even more of a sharp blow to his limbs and torso. He had suffered cuts on his face because they stung and should not be anywhere near the salty seawater. But he swiped at his face until he could mostly see and took as large of a breath as he could. 

The water was thankfully clear enough that he could spot a dark, captain-shaped figure not far from him, sinking down to the bottom. Most people weren't taught to swim, but he couldn’t imagine Flint not knowing how. 

He might’ve been knocked unconscious by the blast that took him over the rail or he could’ve hit something or had something hit him on the way down. Or he could've just given up and let the ocean take him. Any of those options were not ones Silver wanted to think about. He narrowly escaped the mess of wreckage in the water, but swam closer to where Flint was disappearing. 

The pulse in Silver’s chest wouldn’t stop thundering in his head or hammering against his ribs and he couldn’t tune out the cries of dying men all around them. Water splashed in his face, into his mouth and nostrils, and made his cuts burn. But he had to do this. He swore he wouldn’t let Flint die and he might not be the best at keeping promises, but he was sure as fuck going to keep this one. 

He forced all the air and water from his mouth and nose, and breathed deeply, until his body couldn’t take any more. And then he dove and swam down as hard as he could. 

Flint’s coat spread out in the water like sails, loose and billowing, taking him wherever the ocean wanted. His hair had lost its tie and became a trailing halo of orange. But his mouth was slack and his eyes were closed. 

He couldn’t die. Not now, not like this.

Silver reached Flint’s hand first and gripped it, and pulled hard as he turned himself in the water so that his feet were down and his head was up. Flint didn’t grip back, didn’t respond or acknowledge, but he stopped sinking. 

With all the strength Silver had, he kicked the water and pulled Flint until he could tightly wrap an arm around him and bring him to the surface. He held Flint around his chest, keeping himself pressed tightly to Flint’s back so they’d move faster through the water. Silver's lungs were bursting and screaming at him and he fought and clawed upwards for air. 

When he finally made it, he shifted Flint to keep his head above water and took big gulps of air so that he could keep them both afloat. Flint was limp in his arms and too saturated and heavy to stay buoyant. It made them both start to sink again, but he pushed Flint toward the surface and dipped below himself. Water rushed into his mouth and nose and he had barely enough breath saved to make it even a few seconds underwater. 

He coughed and gasped when he surfaced, but held tightly to Flint, refusing to let him go. He took the strap with Flint’s sword and pushed the long, heavy coat from Flint’s body to get rid of some of the weight pulling them down. The water around Flint’s left shoulder turned to thin, lightning strike whirls of red. 

He was bleeding. Badly. Nothing seemed embedded in flesh and the wound went straight through his body as if he’d been shot. And then Silver remembered. He’d heard that gunshot. When De Groot had attacked him. 

At first, he’d feared that they'd managed to kill Flint, but after he'd seen Flint alive and forced by the crew to stop with his plan to attack the warship, Silver had assumed that he'd heard a warning shot. He should have known there was no such thing when it came to Flint. 

Silver had to get them to the shore. There was no way he could stop the bleeding while surrounded by sea. But Flint also wasn’t breathing. Panic curled around Silver and threatened to drag them both to their deaths. He kicked hard to keep them both up and squeezed Flint around his middle to try and force water from his body. 

Flint seemed to heave and expel seawater from his mouth after a few squeezes and he gasped for air. But his eyes didn’t open. His body was still slack and unmoving. 

Silver guided Flint’s head to his shoulder, moved soggy hair out of his face, and held Flint’s forehead as he leaned back in the water so they would float while he swam them to the beach. 

The sand didn’t seem that far away until Silver had to move them through the waves all while keeping them both above water. He checked every few strokes to see if Flint was still breathing, but there was not much he could do right now if he wasn’t and he would really prefer it if he could avoid panicking. 

When his feet finally sank into sand, he took a few steps and then stood and rested for a few seconds so he'd have the energy for what came next. The water kept Flint up and took some of the strain off Silver, but the feeling of Flint’s head resting on his shoulder was welcome. He could keep Flint safe this way. 

He wanted to keep Flint safe. He wanted it so much and it was so overwhelming, he never wanted to think such a thing ever again. It made his chest feel crushed and soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. He could focus on doing something. He had to get them onto the sand.

He walked through the water and let it carry Flint while he guided them as long as he could. When the water became too shallow, he wrapped one arm under Flint's uninjured shoulder and the other around his body and dragged him as far up onto dry sand as he had the strength for. 

Silver collapsed next to him on his hands and knees and watched Flint’s chest for signs of breathing. 

The breaths seemed irregular and difficult, and it tied Silver’s stomach in knots. He tipped Flint’s head to the side with sand covered hands and crouched down over him. “Please breathe. I know you can. I need you to breathe.” 

The sand around Flint's shoulder started to turn red just like the water had. There was far too much of it. Silver pressed his hands to both sides of the open wounds, hoping it would slow the blood flow at least enough so that Flint didn’t lose too much 

He bent over Flint’s prone body and almost touched their foreheads together as he whispered to him. “James.” He needed the familiarity even if they’d never made it as far as using given names or anything but proper titles. It was personal, _this_ was personal. The broken, neediness in his own voice surprised even him. But it didn’t stop him. “Please, James. Stay with me.”

He couldn’t say anymore. He couldn’t worry anymore. He didn’t want to feel anything. The terror that gripped him when Flint went overboard, when he found the gunshot wound, when it was clear that Flint wasn’t breathing, when he was bleeding all over Silver's hands — it was already too much; Silver couldn’t handle it.

Other men made their way up the beach with the Walrus heading for the rocky sand just like her crew. Flint’s knife and sword were still within reach. They hadn’t sunk and been lost to the water. Would Silver have to fight them in order to stay alive? In order to keep Flint alive? Would it even matter if Flint kept bleeding or if he stopped breathing? What was Silver supposed to do?

The first few men out of the water paid him no attention. They seemed far more concerned with finally reaching land. But one trudged out of the sea and stopped briefly at each of the others. Hope sparked in Silver’s chest and he called out. “Doctor Howell! Doctor, please!”

Howell started toward the sound of his name being called but stopped when he saw Silver crouched over their unconscious captain. 

It was their only chance. Silver needed help, and he was sure no one else could or would dare. “Help me. Please.” He didn't care how pathetic or ruined he sounded as long as Howell decided to help him. “He won’t stop bleeding. I don’t think he’s breathing very well. Please, Doctor.”

Howell took on a disappointed expression that was full of pity, but he sighed heavily and knelt down beside them. He felt Flint’s wrist and then the side of his neck, and seemed to be listening to Flint’s breathing. “His pulse is steady but his respirations are too slow.”

Silver’s palms felt cold and rough covered in sand. He brushed them off on his trousers but it wouldn’t make his heart stop pounding. “What does that mean?” 

Howell pulled open Flint’s waistcoat and ripped his shirt down the front until he could pull Flint’s shoulder free of the wet cloth and inspect the wound. “Tip his head back, very gently, and then pinch his nose closed, put your mouth on his and breathe for him. A good, full breath. Try and make his chest move.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to…” A kiss wasn’t allowed. Flint would be furious with him. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a kiss, but it sounded close enough. “Put my mouth on his?” It might have been what he’d begged Flint for, but not like this. 

Howell gave him a look colored with annoyance. “I can’t imagine you’d prefer to watch me do it.”

No, Silver would really not prefer that. It was bad enough that Flint refused to kiss him; it would be far worse watching someone else get closer than Silver probably ever would to such a thing. His hands trembled when he cupped Flint’s face and leaned down over him. He carefully held his nose closed, pressed his mouth to Flint’s open one, and breathed fully like Howell had instructed. 

Flint’s lips were cold and clammy, and it wasn’t at all like the kiss he wanted. Silver wanted Flint to kiss back, not for him to be weak and unconscious and possibly dying. Would Flint ever want to kiss him? Assuming he woke and survived. Silver didn’t want to think of any other possibility. 

“Good,” Howell told him. “Now, wait for a few seconds, and do it again.”

If Flint woke now and got angry with him, Silver would not hesitate to blame the doctor. He doubted Flint would target Howell in any case. He repeated the breaths every few seconds while Howell watched for Flint’s chest to move until finally Howell told him it was enough. 

“We’ll need to keep a close eye on him for the next day or two. I don’t know how long he was under, but any amount of water in his lungs is dangerous.”

This worrying was very distinctly unpleasant. Silver would really prefer to live without it. Why did it matter so much to him? All chance of finding the Urca was lost. Their ship was in ruin and would need a great deal of repairs before she could sail again. By that time, any chance of winning that gold would be long gone. Promises he’d made to himself notwithstanding, it wouldn’t matter if Flint died. Not to mention the warship was still out there and if they couldn’t bring her down with two ships, they certainly wouldn’t be able to do it with no ship. 

He moved wet locks of auburn hair from Flint’s forehead. It had been sticking to his skin and now sand clung to it and Silver’s fingers. At least it would fall off once they were dry. 

Howell tugged at the open clothes hanging off of Flint’s chest. “Help me take his clothes off.”

Silver must’ve shown some kind of shock or distress on his face because Howell gave him another irritated look. “Just his shirt and waistcoat. I want a better look at his shoulder wound. I wouldn’t dare encroach on your territory, Mr. Silver. I’m a doctor; I have no interest in Flint.”

That wasn’t quite what Silver was worried about. Flint had already chosen him over anyone else. At least a few times. He’d be angry now if he knew Silver was responsible for his breathing and partial nudity. He would likely rage at Silver and shove him against something that would dig into his back and make his whole body ache, but not in the sharp, terrible way that real pain did. Feeling Flint grip him hard and hold him down, feeling him crush Silver with the weight of his body so that there was nothing but heat and solid, unstoppable, relentless force was anything but painful. 

Silver had to stop thinking about that. He had to put all thoughts of needing Flint out of his mind. But it was difficult when he was unconscious and everyone else had left him to die. Silver helped lift Flint’s upper body so that Howell could remove the torn, soggy garments. Watching Flint bleed to death would be far worse that suffering anyone’s wrath. 

When they lay Flint back down, they turned him more on his side so Howell could look at both sides of Flint’s wound. Silver put his thigh under Flint’s head so his face wasn’t buried in sand, and idly stroked his hair. Just a little. Just to keep hair and sand out of his eyes when he woke. He really needed to be awake now. 

“It appears to be a clean shot straight through. And I don’t think any bones were broken. If they were, it wasn’t a major break. It might have nicked scapula, but there isn’t much I can do about that even if it did. Either way, he’ll need to minimize movement of that arm. Seeing as this is Flint, I doubt he’ll follow such recommendations.” Howell wrung out Flint’s waistcoat and folded it so the inside part could be pressed to the open wounds on either side of Flint’s shoulder. “Take this,” he told Silver and let him hold the fabric. “Keep pressure on it. That will slow the blood flow. I’ll see if I can find a better cloth for it once we have supplies on shore.” Howell pushed himself to his feet. 

“That’s all? We can’t do anything else?” Feeling helpless was even worse than feeling worried. What would he do if Flint died right here on the beach in Silver’s arms? What would happen then? Why the fuck was the idea of losing him so painful? A month ago, they didn’t even know each other. 

“If I had the supplies, I’d stitch up the open wounds. But we don’t have them. I’ll see what can be scavenged from the wreck, but there are a lot of people who were injured far worse than this. Though I doubt anyone worse off than this has much chance of survival.” Howell sighed heavily and sounded much more exhausted, but he looked at Silver with the same sad disappointment he’d worn earlier. “As long as there are no complications from nearly drowning or from the gunshot wound, he should be fine. Just keep pressure on his shoulder. He doesn’t look badly injured in any other way, and his pulse is strong, as are his respirations. If his breathing slows or seems weaker, you can breathe for him again as I instructed. But I know for a fact that he’s made it through far worse than this. Flint is nothing if not resilient.” 

Silver looked down and wanted to focus on something that wasn’t Flint, but all he was able to pay attention to was the steady rise and fall of Flint’s chest. Letting himself sink to the bottom of the sea didn’t sound very resilient. Maybe he hadn’t let himself, but if Howell hadn’t found any other injuries and Flint’s swimming ability wasn’t in question, Silver didn’t know what else could explain it. He didn't want Flint to give up. Even if there was no chance of gold. 

The crew would surely be furious with Silver. Flint was his only potential ally. Though that would be heavily dependent on Flint’s mood. Silver still wanted him to live. Regardless of everything. 

Howell placed a hand on Silver’s shoulder. “He should be fine. I’ll return in a little while to check on him.”

“Thank you,” Silver said softly. He’d try to glance up at Howell, but couldn’t manage to look him in the eye. Whatever was between Flint and Silver — at this point Silver wasn’t even sure what it was — Howell had to assume Silver was stupidly infatuated or otherwise enthralled, attached, and misguided. There was no point in worrying about what others thought of him, but this was unsettling. 

Ever since they met, Flint had occupied too many of Silver’s thoughts. It was obsessive and ridiculous. Why was he so fascinated by this man? Why did Flint let him see glimpses of him that no one else knew about? 

Why wasn’t Silver hundreds of miles away by now where he was out of any danger? 

His hands were stained with Flint’s blood and he hated it and Flint shouldn’t be bleeding like this and Silver did not want the red fluid to keep sliding over his fingers. Caring about someone else was terrible and Silver did not want to do it anymore. 

Flint’s breath hitched in a sudden snag and it made Silver’s heart stop. He moved closer and leaned down over him to listen to his breaths. They were quicker, shallower and his face scrunched and wrinkled as if he was in pain. Silver switched to holding Flint’s shoulder with one hand and used the other to stroke through Flint’s hair in what he hoped would be a soothing manner. He brushed his thumb back and forth over Flint’s forehead since he seemed to find it comforting when Silver had done it before. 

Some of the hard-wound tension that was always present in the set of Flint’s shoulders, his jaw, and his posture faded until he he’d relaxed with Silver’s touch and his breathing became something more regular. The way Flint seemed to welcome being cradled on Silver’s lap gave the illusion of trust, and Silver couldn’t help wishing that it was real. If Flint truly trusted him, it would be the most valuable thing Silver had ever won. 

The thought made him want to untangle himself and move to a safer distance. But he remained where he was while what was left of the Walrus and her crew unloaded what they could from the wreck and made camp down the beach. 

Howell returned ages later and switched the ruined, sodden waistcoat for thick scraps of folded white fabric. They stuck to Flint’s skin with a little pressure and some help from clotting blood. But there was still too much of it that seeped through and colored Flint’s freckled chest a dark red. 

One of the crew noticed Silver on the beach with Flint, and bleeding became the least of their problems. Logan drew his sword and stormed toward them with murder in his eyes. Dufresne followed, not far behind him. 

Silver glanced around. They’d lost the pistol to the sea, but Flint’s sword rested in the sand just out of his reach. He likely wouldn’t fair well in a fight against Logan or whoever else decided to draw arms against them, but he wasn’t going to just watch Flint be murdered. Gently but quickly, he moved Flint’s head and let him rest on the sand as he scrambled for the sword. 

His heart pounded too hard and his hands weren’t steady, but he gripped Flint’s sword tightly and stood between Flint and Logan. “Killing a man while he’s unconscious hardly seems fair or honorable.”

Logan swung his sword at Silver. It crashed hard against the weapon in Silver’s hands when he blocked the blow. “You better look away then.”

Silver pushed and tried to keep distance between them and Logan’s target. “And here I thought we were supposed to be gentlemen.”

“Who the fuck told you that?” Logan shoved him in the chest and knocked air out of him. “We’re fucking pirates. Half our crew is dead. Our ship is ruined. All of that is on you. On _both_ of you!” 

Silver held up his hands though one still held a sword and sort of subverted his point. “I understand your anger, but there are more important things to worry about right now. We need sufficient supplies for survival — food, water, shelter. There could be enemies in the area we need to look out for.” If Silver had any chance of escaping, he’d need Flint. He wasn’t sure what he’d need Flint for, but there would be something. Flint was astute and strong. He knew how to navigate and man a ship. But if he didn’t wake, if he was too weak to do anything, he wouldn’t be much help. Still. Silver wouldn’t be able to escape without him. “When the captain wakes up, he’ll be able to get us through all of that.”

“He’s not our captain anymore,” Logan said like a barely contained growl. “He’s a goddamn liar. And a murderer. Why the fuck don’t you see that?”

Silver really didn’t know how to answer that question. He knew perfectly well the kind of man Flint was. He’d seen him with Gates’ body. He knew most of his words had to be lies or evasions. But he also knew the crew had no idea who Flint really was. There was so much more to him than anyone saw. “He can still help. With whatever comes next for us.”

Logan pointed his sword at Silver and forced him to step back or be skewered. “Is he really that good of a fuck that he’s got you murdering us over it?”

Silver lowered the sword in his hand. His mouth felt too dry and his throat hurt when he try to swallow. 

Dufresne stepped between them and spoke calmly to Logan. “This is no time for in-fighting. Mr. Gates wanted to prevent that.”

“They’re the reason we’re in this mess!” Logan gestured with his sword but Dufresne urged him to sheathe it. 

“Yes, and we’re going to need every man we have left to get out of it. Even Flint. Especially if we want to retrieve any of the gold. He and Mr. Silver will be dealt with and I assure you they will no longer be part of our crew. You don’t need to worry. Now, if you don’t mind, there are still teams working on recovering whatever we can from the ship.”

Logan huffed and stormed off toward the Walrus and the men dragging items up the beach. Dufresne turned to Silver and extended his hand. “Your weapons.”

Silver clutched the sword and turned as if he could shield it. “What happens if someone else decides to attack me?”

Dufresne picked up the dagger that was usually tucked into Flint’s belt. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you fired the cannon that nearly got all of us killed.”

“My captain gave an order, and I followed it.”

Dufresne’s eyes narrowed as if he could be losing patience. “He’s no longer your captain. I will make sure no one attacks either of you. As soon as we have our supplies in order, you will both be tried with provoking this disaster. If you’re cooperative, I will ensure something fair and merciful. Now, the sword, if you please.”

It wasn’t as if Silver really had a choice at the moment. And he couldn’t exactly fight off the entire crew any way. He handed over the weapon. “What did you mean by we need Flint to retrieve the gold. Isn’t the Urca a delusion perpetuated by the captain?”

Dufresne forcefully snatched the sword and glared. “It seems a treasure galleon wrecked on the coast a little north of here. There are trunks of gold being offloaded as we speak. It’s strewn all over the sand, and I imagine Flint will have a plan for how we might leave with as much of it as possible.”

The Urca was here. It was real and they’d found her. Silver grinned. He knew Flint had been right, that somehow he would find that gold. How they’d actually walk away with it was an entirely different issue.

“Until he wakes and can configure such a plan, you will remain here under armed guard. If you would like to live, I would advise you to follow my order and refrain from causing any more damage.” Dufresne motioned for two men to stand not far from Silver and Flint while he went about directing the rest of the crew. The men whispered about the gold, about their former captain and about Silver, but nothing Silver wouldn’t have expected. 

For the moment, he sat on the sand and waited. A few steps away, a safe distance from Flint. He wanted to hold him again. He wanted to kiss him, even just in an innocuous place like his forehead. The feel of Flint in his arms, warm against his thighs, could easily be all Silver would think about. 

He had to stop thinking about it so much. Whatever would happen now with the crew against them, Silver would either be on his own or worse. He never liked considering the most terrible possibilities, but he had to prepare himself.

Even if they managed to steal some of the gold, he and Flint would be separating. Silver had kept his vow and kept Flint from dying. The best chance for them would likely be escaping somehow, which still meant never seeing him again once they were free. As long as Flint was alive somewhere, Silver would be content with that. He knew it was going to happen; it always did. He would find something else. Someone else. There were plenty of people in the world.

Maybe someday fate would reunite them. Even if only for a brief moment. Maybe, if he were lucky, Flint would remember him as someone who stood with him when everything else seemed lost. Rather than an inconvenient thief or a momentary distraction. 

How _would_ Flint remember him?

He watched Flint breathe from where he was, but breathing seemed harder for Silver’s own body. Was it really over already? Not that he cared to remain as a gentleman of misfortune. Did he want to remain somewhere near Flint? Wherever he ended up?

That was beyond absurd. What was wrong with him? No one should have any affect on or authority over his life. 

Silver took a deep breath and held his knee to his chest. It was simply an intense morning. Flint didn’t have any power over him. Flint didn’t mean anything to him. No one did. Silver was the antithesis of loyalty. He didn’t have the luxury of preserving or indulging in attachments. Not if he wanted to live. He just didn’t want to see Flint die, but he never wanted to see anyone die. The ship coming under attack and both of them nearly drowning would have worn on anyone. Silver would come out unscathed in the end. He always did. 

Sounds finally came from Flint’s mouth. A soft, weathered coughing. He lifted himself off the sand like he was stiff and sore, but not like he was too weak or too wounded. His gaze centered first on Silver. 

Relief washed worried tension from Silver’s body. He wasn’t alone in this anymore. “They think it will be a while before she sails again,” he said and nodded toward the damaged ship. “In the meantime you and I have been charged with provoking this whole mess.”

Dufresne approached them with his usual amount of delight at their continued existence. 

Flint turned toward him and spoke with such resignation that all Silver could think of was the memory of Flint in the water, unmoving, not breathing, his coat spread out like an unravelling shroud. “Why am I still alive? Why didn’t you kill me?”

Dufresne looked to Silver as if he had the answer, as if he was the answer. A heady sense of satisfaction settled over him. There had been genuine fear in Dufresne’s eyes when Silver had warned him over Gates’ body about accusing Flint. It shouldn’t be so gratifying and yet, the idea that Dufresne was that concerned about what Silver might do gave him a viciously warm rush of feeling in his chest. In this case, Silver wouldn’t mind being thought of as that dangerously protective. 

Dufresne sighed with long-suffering exasperation. “Get him up.” He walked away, heading down the beach, like he was completely through with living on the same planet as both of them. 

Silver pushed himself up and offered Flint a hand. He should have expected it would be refused, but it made him thankful for the small moment where he brought Flint comfort by holding him and stroking his hair and forehead, by protecting him. He took a few steps, but stopped and waited for Flint to make it to his feet. 

Flint immediately noticed his torn shirt on the sand beside him and he shrugged it over his head with his good arm. 

Silver kept a respectable distance, but walked near Flint as they were led over grassy hills to another beach. It was covered in gold, just as the men had said, and if it wasn’t enough to renew and stoke that angry fire that was Silver’s captain, he doubted anything could. 

It was hope lying in the sand, even if they never actually managed to own it. It proved that everything Flint had promised was true. He was right and there was no way for anyone to deny it. The crew would have to forgive their transgressions. They could see with their own eyes what it had been for. 

As long as Flint’s anger and bitterness didn’t get them both strung up first. Silver looked at him, imploring him without saying anything. He didn’t want to die. Neither of them had to die. If Flint noticed his distress, Silver couldn’t tell. 

Flint’s eyes were focused somewhere beyond him and beyond the beach with gold. What was it that he saw? What was on his mind that was somewhere beyond everything else? Would Flint ever let him know? Silver supposed it didn’t matter, but it was difficult not to wonder.

Thankfully, Flint relented and agreed before Silver had to point out that they didn’t actually have to cooperate with mutineers — all Flint had to do was convince them he would and then he and Silver could escape. But Flint came to that conclusion himself. What was it that made Flint change his mind? Did he come up with a plan? Did he decide he didn’t want to die after all? Did he remember something and if so, what was it that had the power to sway him?

The way Flint walked, the way he spoke to the crew with such knowledge and command, it was hard to believe he’d nearly died that morning. Perhaps Howell was right — Flint was resilient. With everything he’d been through just that morning, he would have to be. 

Silver lifted his hand, and volunteered to stay with him. It would be the perfect escape. They could both be free of all of this, and they could go anywhere. Leave behind everything else and find another way to live. They could keep going north, away from the water, away from Nassau, and find that place that Flint wanted where it was green and full of trees and warmth and without the sea or hunger or violence. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to have Flint at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My darling, extremely talented friend drew art for this chapter! Go take a look and tell him how gorgeously perfect it is! [ Clicky! ](http://honey-rat.tumblr.com/post/123415561637)


	8. Fucking Warship 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint wakes on a beach, alive, and with the treasure closer than ever. Silver endeavors to help him take over the Spanish warship, and Flint has revelations about their relationship. 
> 
> set during 2x01

At one time, he believed the only home he’d ever have was aboard a wooden vessel on the vast and ever-changing sea. He’d never found anything on land that was worth leaving the life he’d known. It wasn’t the most pleasant life, or one that was easy, but there was a freedom and a purpose he found there that he hadn’t anywhere else. There had never been anything to tie him to any particular place, which made the inconstant waves the only thing that felt natural. 

None of it was true anymore, and even though he’d known that before he left, it was different feeling the ache of separation, being drawn resolutely north as if he were a compass needle that only ever sought one place, one thing. It must be what having a home felt like. 

Three months didn't seem so long compared to all the years he’d spent without anyone, but when he stepped from the carriage and looked at the familiar doors, where he knew every room that lay beyond the windows, where there was color and light and warmth that made everything else appear dull and lifeless, where he knew people he loved awaited him, then three months felt far too long to have been absent. Whether or not they remained in pursuit of a better world, he never wanted to leave again. Not unless they were with him. 

He only wished he brought better news. Their fight was growing more difficult and the last thing he wanted to do was inform Thomas of how out of reach his dream still was. He hated seeing how disheartened he and Miranda were when he told them of the violence and tragedy in Nassau, but at least he could offer hope. They would find a way. 

He wasn’t used to Miranda having such little faith in his words. She tended to believe his plans a little more readily than she did Thomas’ aspirations. Her husband would see the beauty in what could be while James would figure out how it might be accomplished, so it was reasonable for her to trust strategy over something less tangible. He’d be lying if he said her worries didn’t affect him now.

She was so bright and joyous, full of smiles and boldness that he so admired. When she withdrew that evening, there was too much about her that was lost to fear and sadness. She told them she wished to be alone, and it was far from the way she would often bid them goodnight with a grin and encourage them to enjoy each other’s company. 

Was he no longer welcome? That couldn't be the reason. He knew it wasn’t true because she loved him. She loved Thomas and wanted them both to be happy. She’d told him more than once that she had never been interested in being in love with anyone, that she preferred loving people other ways. But there was still guilt that rose in James’ stomach and left a lump lodged in the center of his chest. 

Was she happier with his presence? Or had she been happier before James had been assigned as their liaison.

Thomas closed the door to his bedroom and stood there, resting against it. “She’s worried.”

“I know.” James looked down at his boots and the blue coat in his hands. He should put it back on and return to the cold, empty bed across the city where he should sleep every night. But he was weak and it had been so long. He needed Thomas’ arms around him, he needed that warmth in spite of all this. He wanted to finally feel like he was home again. 

Thomas shook his head and stepped forward. “I know what you’re thinking and please don’t. She argued the same thing this morning and I simply can’t bear it.”

That was his answer then. Miranda would be happier if James weren’t there. He shouldn't be here. She was Thomas’ wife, even if their marriage was far from what people expected or thought it should be. Legally, James was nothing to either of them but a political consult. That was all he’d ever be. 

There was no way for him to be Thomas’ husband. There was no way for him to be part of their family. Not officially. She’d always encouraged him to disregard what anyone said or thought about him. They both had. But people couldn’t know the truth. They would never accept it. 

“If my being here upsets her…” he said, but couldn’t finish. Leaving them now hurt too much to think about. All he’d wanted, all he’d dreamed about for months was returning to them. 

“No,” Thomas placed his hands on James’ upper arms. “Darling. She suggested that she leave here because she fears we will come under attack if people learn of our relationship.” His grip tightened on James’ arms. “I trust your plan and you know how I want to help Nassau. But I can't lose either of you. For any reason.” He cupped James’ face with one hand and leaned in close. “Please, don't leave. I’ve been sick with longing being apart from you.”

James was drawn closer, as if he had no power to stop it. He didn't want to stop it. He needed Thomas. Without him, there was nothing but cold darkness. There was no hope in world and nowhere else James belonged. “I hated being without you. My life before you and Miranda was miserable. And empty. All I’ve thought about these past months is finally being with you again.”

Thomas pulled him forward and kissed him fiercely, with all the separation of those three months turned into magnetic, immense urgency. James wanted so much. He needed this so much. The way Thomas clung to him and kissed him, as if he was the thing that gave Thomas life, made James dizzy and defenseless. 

He never had to be guarded with Thomas. He never had to worry that he would be ridiculed or rejected. Thomas loved him, and James wanted to give him everything. 

Thomas gripped him and fought against the clothes covering James’ body. James couldn’t breathe any more and didn’t want to. He just wanted to hold on. He grasped Thomas’ waistcoat and started to undo the buttons, but Thomas didn't wait that long. He pushed off James’ shirt and trousers like they offended him, and then tore off his own clothes.

James stepped backward until his legs hit the bed and Thomas pushed him down, covering James with his own beautiful, warm body. He kissed James, all tongue and demanding lips that claimed his mouth, that meant to claim him, and pulled the tie from his hair so his long waves fell loose and Thomas could wind his fingers in it. His hand tightened into a fist and tugged as his mouth moved to James’ neck and he nipped at James’ throat. 

It sent sparks through his whole body and left him flushed and aching. He’d been cold before this, but even now that he was exposed to the chilly air, there was nothing but heat. There was nothing but Thomas. 

And Thomas was frantic. Every touch was possessive and forceful, meant to leave reminders. Something to convey how much Thomas felt for him, and how much he had to have this. James could only hold on as Thomas teased him open and wove himself through every part of James’ being. 

There was nothing left of what he had been. He wasn’t alone or unloved, he wasn’t detestable or vile, too dark and wild or uneducated, he wasn’t unworthy because of where he came from or how he’d grown up or because of who he was. Thomas erased every way that James wasn’t good enough. 

Thomas whispered sweet words and vows of affection, breathing love against James’ skin every time they kissed. James ended up sobbing and desperately clinging when they found release. They’d been apart for so long, he couldn’t feel anything but how much they both needed. Now that he finally had it, the rush of emotions and the ferocity of Thomas’ love crashed over him like relentless waves. 

He could barely breathe and hardly had any strength left, but he gripped Thomas with hands and limbs, and wasn’t ready to move. He had to keep them right where they were. 

Thomas’ hands were gentle, but firm and steadying. He held the top of James’ head, fingers threaded through his hair as he stroked his forehead with his thumb. James whimpered, entirely overwhelmed by all of it. He’d never needed anything so much. He’d never had a home to come back to. He’d never had anyone who loved him as much as Thomas did. He’d never had anyone who loved him.

Thomas kissed his cheek and the wet corners of his eyes. “It’s all right, love. I have you.” He nuzzled James, holding him tightly, protectively. “Did it hurt too much?”

James shook his head. “No. It’s still…” His impulse was to keep quiet and not say anything, but he wouldn’t have to worry about what Thomas thought of him. Nothing would change Thomas’ love for him. “It’s difficult to comprehend. But then I feel it. When you touch me. When you kiss me. I remember how much you love me. And I don’t know why. Or what I could have done to deserve it. And then I want to think I’m being foolish and naïve because all my instincts tell me not to believe it. But you still love me anyway.” 

Thomas rested his forehead against James’ as he cradled him. “I do,” he whispered. “I love you beyond words.” He moved slightly and brought their lips together. It was soft and slow, without urgency but no less fervent. Thomas touched their noses together and smiled. “Do you feel it?”

James grinned back at him. “Yes.”

Thomas kissed him again, even longer this time, until there was nothing but the languid, lazy drag of their mouths against each other. It left James filled with warmth and smooth, bright bubbles of joy. “Remember that, my love.” He stroked James face, fingers a reverent caress.

James promised by kissing him so Thomas would never forget either.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sand was hot on his skin, and it rubbed against his face, his back, his chest and arms. The sun beat down on him, burning what hadn’t already been abraded or sliced through. His throat itched and breath lodged there until his lungs burned and he had to cough.

He could open his eyes. He could see the beach. His shoulder ached, and every muscle and bone in his body was sore and stiff as if he’d been dried out and drained of everything. 

He was alive. Why the fuck was he alive? 

When he looked, he found Silver a few paces from him as if he’d finally learned how to not be meddlesome. 

More likely, Silver had grown tired of him as well. With the Urca and her gold forever out of their grasp, anything that seemed like loyalty to Flint would have been irrevocably lost. He no longer had even the illusion of an ally. 

Why wasn't he dead yet? His ship was all but destroyed. His crew wasn’t his crew any longer, and they’d likely see him dead within mere hours. Dufresne would want to play it like they were civilized, proper gentlemen; they’d have a trial and a vote with Flint hanged in the name of righteousness and democracy. And Silver’s last words would likely be of hatred toward Flint for having done this to him. 

A sour taste of bile and stomach acid burned as it slid over his tongue. Silver had made his life and his goal much more difficult, and Flint knew that “ _I’m purely in this for myself and you know this_ ” was the most honest thing to ever come out of that man’s mouth. But Silver had also been… something that could be considered sympathetic. 

Of course it was a feint. Genuine was the last thing Silver was. There was no love or authenticity behind Silver’s words or touches or even his presence here. All they had in common was a need for that gold. And maybe a need for solace along the way. Their chance for both had long since passed. 

But he shouldn’t die because of this.

The notorious Captain Flint might be known as a harbinger of death and destruction, but Silver meeting his death because he’d gotten too close to him was far too much like Thomas being tortured and lost to grief because he’d loved Flint. Because he’d loved the man Flint truly was or had been at one time. 

It couldn’t happen again. How could he have let anyone get that close to him when he knew the price that would have to be paid for it? Whatever relief he’d found with Silver wasn’t anything like what he and Thomas had shared. Only a rare few would look at the two and see the difference. They would only see the loathsomeness in his desires — a degrading, profane lust that would condemn him no matter the truth of his heart. It wasn’t love to them, not a respectable kind, but he’d never managed to love anyone else. 

He couldn’t argue that the affair he’d had with Silver was valuable or virtuous at all. They’d describe it as perversion and unrepentant sin in the form of unholy lust, and he wouldn’t be able to deny it. He was weak and lost, and alone, and he’d had nothing that came close to happiness or fulfillment in ten years. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t stop the thoughts he had. He couldn’t keep his emotions under control and it wasn’t for lack of trying. When rage took over, that’s all he was. There was nothing else. 

He’d never renounce or dishonor the love Thomas had for him. He’d died for it, and Flint would never make that a vain sacrifice. 

Would it always end this way? 

They should have killed him. Was there really more he could do with his life?

Perhaps the crew would listen to an argument that Silver had only been following orders and that he shouldn’t be held accountable for the disaster against the warship. Flint doubted it though. Dufresne held far too much resentment. 

But not enough that he didn’t want to use Flint for money. 

They walked him over grassy hills and showed him a beach strewn with trunks and Spanish soldiers. The Urca was here. 

The gold was close enough he could almost touch the soft, gleaming metal. Thomas’ dream wasn’t dead. That money had to make it back to Nassau. He couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t let Dufresne or Lord Alfred or anyone else win. 

If the crew wanted a spectacle, if they thought there was anything satisfying about putting someone to death because they assumed it would somehow repair what had been damaged, they were foolish. And completely, inescapably wrong. Alfred Hamilton had deserved death, but killing him hadn’t ended Miranda’s misery or Flint’s hell. It didn’t make up for the pain Thomas had been forced to suffer. It didn’t change the fact that the brightest, most generously kind and selfless man Flint had ever known had been tortured and left to die alone. 

The warship was mocking him. If Flint could take it singlehandedly, he would. When it came down to it, would any crew members watch his back or help him fight when it got rough? Would any of them really follow his command now? After everything? What made him think he needed anyone else? 

It didn’t matter what they thought. He’d either prove them right or he’d die trying and he’d never have to deal with them again. Unless his punishments in hell involved endless ridicule and judgement. It probably would. They would be fitting.

If Silver thought that Flint would stand between him and the Spanish soldiers if they got into trouble, he was far less intelligent than Flint had once thought. The smile Silver offered, as if Flint would be pleased with his continued presence, was even worse than the salt in his wounds and the sand on burned skin. Silver was presumptuous, supercilious, and he would be as good as useless in taking the warship. 

There was no magical connection between them. Fucking didn’t equate to some kind of affection and it sure as hell didn’t manifest loyalty to anyone. If that was what Silver expected, he would be thoroughly disappointed. Flint glared at him. “You shit.”

Silver stared after him like he was dumbfounded. “Um. Beg pardon?”

Flint went to the levels of worn rocks and sat down so he could pull off his shoes. “I needed a fighter, someone I could count on to make a difference on that ship.” He couldn’t be worried about Silver’s ineptitude while they were under attack. He couldn’t be rushing to his aid or left without someone who could help him fight. He couldn’t be focused on Silver when there were much more important things to concern himself with. He wouldn’t care if something happened to Silver. “What the fuck were you doing volunteering?”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. Why wouldn’t I volunteer? If we’re to try and…” He stopped and looked out at the ship on the water. “Hang on. You’re serious about taking the ship?”

Really. This was the man he was left with. This was the man who was going to stand between success and failure. And even life and death. Fucked didn’t reach the circles of hell that surrounded Flint. “What the fuck did you think?”

“I thought this was how you intended to escape! Sure, it’d be a few days of walking or so to St. Augustine, but at least we’d have a chance.” 

Why the fuck would his plan be escape? They needed that ship. He needed the gold. And Silver had told him that was all he wanted as well. What would be the point in escaping? When he looked at Silver and hoped some kind of sense or remorse would come to him, but there was only a slightly panicked bewilderment in return. 

“You really mean to board that ship? Jesus Christ.” Silver stared out at the ship and then met Flint's gaze. “I’m not doing it. I don’t need to return to Nassau. I am happy to find some other place to survive.”

Of course he would refuse. All Silver cared about was his own shit of an existence. If he hadn't volunteered, Flint would’ve had someone who could actually aid him and make his plan successful. But everything he did had to be doomed to failure. Now, Flint didn’t have another choice. He’d have forge ahead alone. At least Silver would be about as successful as he would on his own. “St. Augustine is that way. It’s at least a week on foot. Tequesta tribes in between. I doubt you’ll survive to see sunrise tomorrow.” He gave Silver one last look of annoyance before walking past him and into the ocean.

“How are you even going to get out there with one arm?” Silver called after him, but it wasn’t as if the sharp throbbing in his shoulder could stop him. It was nothing in comparison. 

Flint had been on his own thus far; it wouldn’t make any difference if he was alone now. The only man he’d ever been able to count on, the only one worthy of his trust, the only one who ever loved him and didn't think him a monster, was long dead. He didn’t need anyone else.

He was almost surprised to see Silver in the water next to him, but any of the other options Silver had would end in his death. Flint was only a little better than death. They were stuck with each other.

If the Spanish outnumbered him and overpowered him, at least his life would be taken by them rather than ineffectual, mutinous shits like his former quartermaster. What made him think he had any right? That he had any skill or ability with leadership? Dufresne was in over his head. The man knew nothing about being a captain. He knew nothing about battle or survival, and if anyone was going to get the rest of the crew killed, it would be Dufresne, not Flint. If they wanted to die or starve to death or be gutted in their sleep by Spanish soldiers, they were free to do so. 

What would happen if the crew didn’t join in the attack on the warship? If he and Silver succeeded, they wouldn’t be able to sail a ship of that size with only the two of them. If the crew didn’t launch their assault, they were dead no matter what. 

The warship was massive and he expected it to have a comparable sized crew, but being confronted with the leftover men, even with them asleep in their hammocks, was still enough to speed his pulse. One false move and he was dead. Everything was dead. 

Silver climbed through the portal, not as quietly as he should have. “Well, that was easy.”

Flint turned at Silver’s voice and his hands effortlessly found Silver’s mouth and the side of his neck. There would be nothing easy about this. 

Something flashed in Silver’s eyes. In his breath that caught and now feathered against Flint’s palm. Silver’s body was suddenly tense as if he couldn’t or didn’t want to move. His eyes were fixed on Flint, focused nowhere else, and their bodies were far too close together. 

Flint nodded to the sleeping men and pulled away. Touching Silver was a horrendously bad idea. At least Silver’s survival instincts took over and left him intent on something besides Flint. There was plain fear in his eyes when he looked back to Flint, and silently asked with his expressive face, _what do we do now?_

Flint made a motion to keep silent and quietly stood, then stepped between the swinging hammocks. They needed to get out of this immediate danger first, and then he’d figure out how to get a signal to the crew. 

He surveyed the sleeping men as they walked carefully, light steps against the damp wood of the deck. The sea was calm and didn’t shift too much, and the ropes and coils keeping the hammocks suspended creaked as they swayed, which kept it from growing too silent. As long as they made it through without waking anyone, they might be able to manage this. 

He glanced behind him to make sure Silver was with him and found him wide-eyed. But he was following and watching Flint. The only thing worse than Silver getting them caught would be Flint doing this alone. This did give him someone else to blame if they failed. 

When he reached the end of the hold and looked back a second time, his prediction was all too close to reality. They were so close to a modicum of safety. Was a fucking trinket really that valuable? More so than their lives? Silver’s survival instincts were seriously lacking. Something must’ve gone awry in his head. 

The man slumbering below Silver’s puerile lapse in judgment woke, and what exactly was Silver going to do now? Talk the whole Spanish crew out of killing him? Because any man awoken by someone stealing from him was so lenient with intruders? Maybe he’d just offer them enough sex until they found him useful enough to keep him alive. It apparently had been enough to dissuade Flint. For a few months anyway. 

Since he couldn’t strangle Silver this very second without them being caught, Flint covered the Spaniard’s mouth and slid a dagger through his neck. He struggled and knocked over a bottle, but there was nothing Flint could do about it. 

Some sense finally kicked in and Silver scrambled after the bottle before it woke anyone else. He looked up at Flint as if he were clever, and that was about all Flint could take. He motioned with his head and Silver crawled back underneath the hammocks with that smug smirk plastered on his face. 

Flint grabbed the front of Silver’s shirt and dragged him the rest of the way past the hammocks before he got it into his head to steal anything else. He shoved Silver hard into the dark corner and held the bloody dagger to his throat. “You almost got us killed.”

“Almost. Almost!” Silver yielded under his grip and held a hand up in surrender. His breaths were quick and heavy and far too much like the way he sounded when Flint touched him an entirely different way. 

“For a fucking bauble.” He should have expected it. Silver was nothing but a liar and a thief. He played games with people’s heads while only thinking of himself and what he wanted. Flint hadn’t believed his pretty words or his soft touches for a moment. But he had allowed them. He’d even wanted them. 

How many people had Silver seduced and tricked the way he had done with Flint? Why the fuck had Flint just let Silver do it to him? When he knew Silver didn’t care about anything, especially not him. 

How could he let anyone else touch him? Thomas should have been the only one allowed to touch him. Thomas was the only one who could make him feel anything that wasn’t rage or pain. 

“It’s a bosun’s whistle.” Silver nodded to the shiny metal in his hand and held it up so Flint could see. “Look.” 

It was a whistle. A simple cheap piece of nothing. 

Silver’s hand found Flint’s chest and rested there, not as if he was keeping Flint at a distance, but something with gentleness. As if it might calm him down or offer comfort. “Doesn’t it make more sense for us to prompt the lookout to come down than for us to go up there after him?”

Silver had actually thought that through. He had a plan and it likely would help them. What could Flint say to that? No one, not even Gates had been able to think ahead of Flint’s plans and add to them in a productive way. No one in ten years. 

But that didn’t give Silver the right to act on a whim simply because he’d come up with an idea that was poorly executed and could have mortally ended their venture. What the fuck was he thinking? He couldn’t accomplish anything that wasn’t making himself look depraved, impudent, and smug. He couldn’t be trusted with anything. How could Flint have this man anywhere near him? Why did it have to be Silver? Why the fuck was he stuck with this man who didn’t care about anything but himself? 

“Oh, you are truly amazing, you know that. We’re both better off now than we were two minutes ago and yet you’re angry about it because it didn’t happen your way.” That same anger was in Silver’s voice. A raw, blinding fire that burned and destroyed and overtook everything. What the fuck did he have to be angry about? “Might you consider for a fucking moment that your distrust of me is completely unwarranted? I warned you about Billy. Was I right?”

It wasn’t a warning. It was a self-serving trick meant to turn Flint against his own crew. But he didn’t trust his crew any more than he trusted Silver. And Billy had dug too deeply into things he had no way of comprehending. Things that could have put Miranda in danger. 

He hadn’t wanted to believe that his position with the crew was still so tenuous, but it was and yet Silver had sided with him over anyone else. He could have aligned himself with Billy or Gates, Dufresne or even Vane. And yet, he’d spent the day watching Flint, bringing him food when he noticed that Flint hadn’t eaten, offering him relief because he was so inept and fucked up that he couldn’t even give Miranda comfort. He’d been so angry with her for offering that book, _his_ book, but he’d never been able to be with her the way he should. There were so many things wrong with him. 

Somehow it was easier with Silver. He’d wanted to feel how Silver might writhe and moan underneath him. He’d loved how desperate and needy Silver seemed — as if he did want Flint was badly as he said. Flint had wanted so much more than they ended up doing on that beach. But it was too dangerous to do more. He shouldn’t have even done as much as they had. 

But Silver was gorgeous and had a talented mouth and strong hands. Was his attempt to discuss Billy being forced to lie that day on the beach really a warning?

“I find you over Mr. Gates’ body and did I do anything but defend you?” Silver’s words were so earnest, so full of emotion. They had to be lies. How could he mean what he was saying? 

And yet, he had defended Flint. He’d gotten him past that consuming darkness that could easily have overtaken him when he’d killed Gates. Silver hadn’t questioned what he’d done. Had he even been afraid of Flint? After seeing what he was capable of? Flint had assumed so, but Silver had also talked to him gently and told him how to keep going. 

Flint had no way of knowing what Silver had actually said to Dufresne, but it was enough to allow them to try fighting this warship. He’d fired that cannon and listened to Flint, and followed him when no one else had. 

But it was all for the gold. Nothing else made sense. 

Silver’s hand closed in a tight grip on Flint’s torn shirt. His words were ardent with clear force behind them. “When you were sinking to the bottom of the sea, who do you imagine it was who dragged you onto that beach?”

Everything inside Flint went still. How would Silver have known the last thing Flint remembered was letting himself sink? He’d let the blue darkness close around him, let the water take over his body until he had no breath and was too far down to ever see the surface or the shore again. And yet, he woke covered in sand and sunlight. 

He’d wondered why he was alive but he hadn’t considered how it might’ve happened. Why would anyone have pulled him from the water and brought him to safety? Silver would’ve had to dive after Flint when he was sinking. It would have put Silver’s own life in danger. 

How could he have pulled Flint from the depths of the ocean all by himself? Why? It didn’t make sense. Flint couldn’t understand. He should have died. Was it really true? How else would he have woken up on that beach?

Why didn’t Silver leave him to drown? There would have been no way for Flint to obtain any gold for him. They hadn’t known it was so nearby. There would have been no way to find the Urca after the Walrus was ruined. But Flint was still living and breathing. He’d found his answer. 

Silver was the reason he was alive. 

“Brace yourself, but I’m the only person within a hundred miles of here who doesn’t want to see you dead.”

Sounds above their heads stole his attention, and something of genuine fear came over Silver’s face. At least Flint wouldn’t have to think about anything else for the moment. There was too much to think about and process and he couldn’t pick it all apart right now. He stepped in front of Silver to keep them from being discovered and keep their plan from being thwarted. Not because of the intense worry in Silver’s eyes.

They hid in the shadows and he kept Silver behind him, out of the way. If Flint got caught, it might give Silver a chance to escape as long as he stayed hidden. 

When a man came down the stairs, Flint grabbed him and snapped his neck before he could make any noise. He set the body down carefully, but Silver bent over him and pulled at the clothes the man had been wearing. Flint opened his mouth to ask, but then Silver shrugged the wet clothes off his own body and Flint quickly looked away. 

“So concerned with modesty,” Silver whispered with clear amusement in his tone. “You’ve seen me naked. More than once.”

He kept watch and made sure all the men nearby remained asleep, and tried not to think of Silver’s bare skin and beautiful body. He shouldn’t think about it anyway, but especially not right now. He had to get them through this. He had to make sure Silver didn’t die because of him. “I’m more concerned with remaining alive.” 

He tensed at the feel of a hand on his back, but Silver soft voice near his ear had the same affect as a tranquil sea. “Ready when you are.”

Flint kept Silver close at his side to ensure he could block any attacks against them, and then let Silver use his whistle to call down the man on duty. While the man descended, Silver climbed up the rigging and Flint crouched low near the main mast and out of sight. The Spaniard swung from the rigging but looked up as if he’d noticed that Silver was in fact not someone he recognized. 

The man looked after Silver for far too long and if he climbed back up, it would be much more difficult to go after him. After the long swim and all the blood he’d lost, Flint wasn’t sure he could make it all the way up. Which would leave Silver on his own. 

He moved quickly and pulled the other man down to the deck probably sooner than he should have. But he couldn't let the man go up after Silver and discover that he wasn’t one of them. The man fought back and sent a hard blow with his elbow to Flint's head, but Flint turned away and overpowered him with every bit of strength and determination he had left. The knowledge that Silver could have been the one attacked by this man might’ve helped fuel him as well. He covered the mans’ mouth to quiet him and shoved the dagger into his chest. 

When he looked up to check above him in Silver’s direction, he was surrounded by Spaniards who were no longer sleeping. He’d attacked the man too soon. He hadn’t been able to keep him quiet enough. If they didn’t shoot him on the spot, the best he could hope for was that Silver would have enough sense to hide and stay out of sight. 

Even that was too much to hope for. They were both dragged into a hold and tied to chairs, certain to face torture and death. There was no way they would succeed let alone survive now.


	9. Fucking Warship 2

The beach grew smaller on the horizon, away from the soldiers, away from the Urca, away from the precious gold. He’d been so close to having the ability to make Thomas’ dream a reality. Now, he had to watch it disappear. 

It wasn't a failure. He had to remember that. But it felt more like one than he would have liked. The blood all over him was sticky and growing irritating. He left the weather deck and went downstairs to find something to clean himself off. His shirt wasn’t wet enough anymore in order to be useful, but he dipped a rag in basin of stale water, swiped at his face, and then scrubbed the blood from his chest. He would return for the gold before it was gone. He had to. He just had to take back his command. 

At the sound of footsteps, he turned and found Silver behind him. His chest and shoulders moved like he was breathing hard, and he smiled slowly though it wasn’t quite his usual arrogant, brazen one. The wash of relief, excitement, and everything that was once fixed on survival and winning, now had nowhere to go. Flint’s own heart was still beating hard, his body was strung tightly, bursting with energy and fueled with the rush of danger. 

They were both alive, and the ship was theirs. He motioned for Silver to come closer and then held out the rag he’d used to halfway clean himself. 

Silver took it gingerly but looked at him and simply held it. “Am I supposed to use this on me? Or on you?”

Flint gave him a look. “Yourself.” 

A flicker of a coy smile appeared as Silver tilted his head and gazed at him through his lashes, but he wiped most of the blood from his face and said nothing. 

He was so close, Flint could touch him if he wanted. He could feel that lively warmth under his hands that made him feel as if he’d been trapped in winter and frozen for years. That made him feel as if there was something other than pain, fury, and death that existed in the world. What if it happened all over again? What if Silver was taken from him the way Thomas was? 

He didn’t love Silver. He didn’t even know Silver. Whatever might be between them wouldn’t exist for long. Maybe that was reason enough to hold on while it did. He’d been so certain that Silver would leave him to be shot to death, bribed with gold and the promise of escape, and he’d been furious with himself for believing Silver's words, for even wanting to believe that Silver would stick with him. 

But then Silver was still at his side. And Flint was still alive. 

There was no chance Silver would ever love him anyway. Not with what he knew and had seen about Flint. Even Thomas wouldn’t love him now if he knew all the things Flint had done. The man his James had become was distorted and wrecked and turned into an instrument of agony. And Flint had no heart, no capacity for love any longer. 

Silver folded the rag until a clean spot faced outward, and placed it on Flint’s forehead. He let it wet the blood that had dried and then rubbed it from Flint’s skin. How could he be so fearless? Why the hell was he still here? 

When his gaze met Flint’s while he was attempting to clean his face, Silver lowered his hand and looked away. It wasn’t like him to be self-conscious. Flint swallowed and fought to keep himself from reaching out protectively. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what? This?” Silver gave a flippant smile and lifted the bloody cloth in his hand. 

“Why did you pull me from the water? Why did you save me?”

Silver turned the rag over in his hands and shrugged. “I knew you wanted that gold as badly as I do.”

“We hadn’t found the Urca then. There would have been no way to fight her or take that treasure, and we’re lucky my Walrus isn’t at the bottom of the ocean floor. You didn’t even know the gold was there at all. Why did you do it? Were you just hoping for an ally?”

Silver let out a long, tremulous breath, and then met Flint’s eyes. “Like I told you. I didn’t want to see you dead.”

Why would it matter? What was there about Flint that was worth saving? What could he possibly do that would merit a worthwhile life? Why would anyone care if he were dead or not? 

A frown crinkled Silver’s pretty face. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t understand. Why it makes any difference.”

The frown turned into something supremely sorrowful. Silver reached out and lightly touched Flint’s chest but then drew back as if he’d done something wrong. Since when did Silver worry about such things? “It does,” he said simply. 

What was he after? How could Silver benefit from this in any way? Flint was no longer captain. He had no power or authority. They’d left the gold behind and it wouldn’t be his decision if they could go and retrieve it. What sort of difference could he make to Silver? 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and De Groot’s expression turned sharp and irritated when he saw them. Though they were only standing near each other. “The captain would like you both to wait on the quarterdeck while we vote on your sentences.”

Silver stood up taller, his body turned tense and rigid. “What do you mean vote on our sentences?” 

“Exactly as I said, Mr. Silver. We’re going to determine if your help in acquiring the man o’ war outweighs the crimes you committed.”

Silver’s pulse beat faster; Flint could feel it almost as if it were his own. It made him want to step in front of Silver again and shield him from the thing that caused him distress. “And if it doesn’t?”

“I’m sure the captain will offer a humane execution,” De Groot said. 

“That wasn’t the deal!" Silver started forward and seemed to tremble. “If we succeeded in taking the ship, whatever we did was supposed to be excused.”

“Our crew is not a dictatorship,” De Groot said with a pointed glance at Flint. “We’re going to vote like civilized men. Now, if you don’t mind. The captain would like you both to wait upstairs until we’ve reached a decision. If you take longer than a few minutes, he will send someone down here to apprehend you.”

“But,” Silver said and it came out choked. 

Flint rested his hand on Silver’s lower back. “Give us a moment? We’ll be along in a minute.”

De Groot eyed Flint warily as if he didn’t believe a word out of his mouth but left them alone.

Silver turned to him and there was wildfire panic in his eyes. “What are we going to do? Please tell me you have a plan for escape.”

As calmly as he was able, Flint said, “We’re going to wait for their decision.” If the crew were going to kill them, they would have done it already and not made deals at all. Dufresne just wanted to exercise his newfound power and prove that he was in charge. He wasn't because he knew nothing about what it really took, but that was something to address later. Flint wasn’t afraid of death. 

Clearly, Silver was. He stared in disbelief. “You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding. We need an escape. I didn’t go through all of this just to be shot or hanged or pushed off the ship in the middle of the ocean or whatever the fuck they have in mind. I can’t speak for you, but I don’t want to die. This wasn’t the deal. If we managed to take the ship, they were supposed to pardon us and maybe kick us out of the crew, but this wasn’t supposed to end with us dying!”

Flint held Silver’s shoulders and tried to keep him grounded. “John.”

Silver looked up, but seemed thrown by his own name. His eyes flicked over Flint’s face as if he couldn’t keep still. He appeared to be listening even if his heart was still racing. 

At the moment, Flint didn’t really want to die either. What if Dufresne did get enough people to vote for their execution? Would he listen if Flint argued for Silver’s life and asked to spare him? It would at least return the favor of the extra hours that Silver had given him. But that wouldn't help Silver right now. 

Flint leaned forward, holding Silver loosely so that he could move away if he wanted, and pressed their lips together. It was soft and careful, barely more than a simple touch, but there was a sharp breath that Silver took against his own mouth and his hands immediately clenched in Flint’s shirt, pulling it tight across his body. He gripped and didn't release Flint even when he pulled back to see Silver's reaction.

The distraction worked at the very least. Frenzied panic had left Silver’s eyes, and he was now centered entirely on Flint. There was always the potential for some kind of gloating or grandiose speech to leave Silver’s mouth. But it didn’t happen. There was no smug victory written on his face, no shrewd or suggestive comment, no knowing smirk that appeared. Silver didn’t mock him or boast about getting Flint to give in; he simply stared at Flint with something like awe or maybe just confusion in his eyes. 

It must’ve been some surprise for Silver to be rendered speechless. It couldn’t be that extraordinary. Flint hadn’t kissed anyone in ten years. And he didn’t want to think about how he shouldn’t anymore. 

He pulled Silver closer and kissed him again, something slow and warm that felt like it melted over him, through him, and left his pulse skipping. Silver let out a small whimper and released Flint’s shirt so that he could wrap his arms around Flint and hold him close. 

He tasted coppery like blood and salty like seawater, and it felt familiar even if it wasn’t. The way Silver kissed back slowly and fervently was like he wanted so much but was afraid it wasn’t real. Did he really want Flint that badly? 

Flint tightened his grip on Silver and slid his tongue over Silver’s lower lip before he trapped it between his own and kissed him harder. Silver moaned and molded himself to Flint, and it was so different than what he’d expected. It wasn’t empty or devoid of what should be poured into a kiss. It wasn’t like the few times he’d kissed a woman and been left confused and feeling inadequate or like an aberration. If anything, he could easily get swept away and just lose himself in this, and in Silver. 

It made his chest flood with warmth and he wanted more, he ached for this, for being close to someone like this. He wanted more of everything Silver might give him. It had been so long since anything felt this good. It didn’t feel wrong. Even if it was. It didn’t feel that way. It just made him want. 

But if they didn’t face the crew, the crew would come after them, and they couldn’t see them like this. No one could. He pulled away slowly and took a deep breath, hoping it would somehow ready himself for letting go. 

Silver looked at him through a half-lidded haze. His lips were pinker and likely raw from Flint’s beard, but his tongue darted out to wet them and breath fell heavily from his open mouth. He searched Flint’s face like he was trying to find an answer, and then fear rose in his eyes and the tension returned to his once pliant body. “Oh god, you did that because we’re going to die, didn’t you?”

Flint let go and stepped back. Of course that was all it meant to Silver. Some trivial, indifferent gesture as a last chance between them to indulge in whatever depravity he wanted. “You would think that. That’s all it is to you.” Silver didn’t give a fuck about any significance or what it took to do that. He wouldn’t care how much Flint had given him. Why would he? Silver cared about one thing and one thing only, and it definitely wasn’t Flint. This was his own fault for getting sucked in and trapped in Silver’s flirtatious dishonesty. “I don’t know why the fuck I thought it would make a difference. You give me all this bullshit about how you care if I live or die, but not a single word of it is true.”

Silver’s mouth fell open. “How would you know? I’ve done everything I could think of to prove to you that I’m on your side. You would be dead if it weren’t for me, and maybe that is what you wanted, but I’m selfish, right? And I couldn’t stand the thought of you dying. You don’t even know half of what I did to keep you alive. And now I’m going to go up there and face death _again_ because I followed you, because I fucking chose you over everyone else.”

“Because you want something out of me,” Flint snarled and resisted the urge to shove Silver back into the side of the ship. If he touched him right now, there was no telling what would happen between them. He was used to being so angry he wanted to rage at someone with his fists, but he doubted that physicality with Silver would result in a fight. “That’s all you were ever trying to do. You want me to believe you so you offer me sex, you want me to win you money so you bargain to return what you stole from me, you want me to come up with an escape plan so that you don’t have to face what you fully chose to do. You’re no different than anyone else. The moment you decide I’m no longer useful and you realize we don’t have the same goal, you’d leave me to die.”

Silver glared and shook his head like he was disgusted. “You can’t even comprehend it because you’re so closed off and afraid of trusting anyone that you think no one gives a shit about you.”

“And you want to pretend you give a shit about me?”

“Have I ever actually lied to you? Or betrayed you? I’ve been nothing but honest about my intentions, and about everything else for that matter.” Silver’s voice grew in intensity and broke under the strain. “That page happened to come into my possession. I didn’t tear it from the logbook. I didn’t steal it _from you_. I had no idea what it was. I had no idea it meant anything so I figured why not make a deal with someone who wanted it and might find it useful so I could get away from this fucking awful life.”

The breath Flint tried to take was difficult, his chest compressed and tight, and now his head and the hole in his shoulder were throbbing again. There wasn’t anything he could think of. He had no proof that Silver was actively trying to hurt him. He couldn’t think of an instance where Silver had knowingly worked against him aside from when he’d first had the page. If anything, Silver had helped almost every step of the way. 

Could he really fault the man for wanting a way out? For needing some kind of comfort and taking advantage of an opportunity when he found one? There were so few ways that anything in this life was fortunate. There was so much agony and violence and hatred. 

He’d used Silver, too. Because he needed someone. Because there was no way to keep living if his wounds just bled all the life out of him forever. 

Silver was so childishly cheerful and optimistic, but maybe that was his defense. If he’d had anything of value in his life, wouldn’t he care about that as well as himself? Was that why he was only out for himself? After all, Silver was hardly callous or cruel. 

With the exception of Thomas and Miranda, Silver had done more for Flint and seemed to care more for Flint than anyone else. And seeing the anguish on Silver’s face hurt Flint more than he could have ever imagined. What sort of life had he been through? What had brought him to this? Silver might not love him, he might walk away from Flint forever as soon as they returned to Nassau, but what if he did care? 

What could have possessed him to actually care? Flint was far too aloof and distant to be likable. And those were his least offensive qualities. 

He wanted to push it aside and assert that it didn’t matter, but if Silver was all he had now, then he should offer some recompense. If the kiss Silver had wanted so badly hadn’t offered any sort of comfort, then what would?

“Gentlemen,” Dufresne’s voice from the stairs was full of more anger and booming annoyance than usual. “I would prefer not to expend the energy of my crew by having to force you both to follow orders. The quarterdeck, now.”

Silver tried to take deep breaths, but he was plainly terrified, and there was nothing Flint could do for him. 

No, maybe there was one thing. Flint walked to the stairs and met Dufresne at the top. “Captain,” he made sure there was no hint of ridicule or subterfuge present in his voice even though the title was ludicrous when it came to the man in front of him. “I would hope that what we’ve done for you, to support you and your new crew, will be taken as sincere repentance. I know the severity of my crimes and Mr. Silver was simply acting out of loyalty to me. All I ask is that we be pardoned for our transgressions. We will walk away and leave you to your ship as soon as we return home to Nassau. I’d ask for nothing more but your forgiveness and our lives.” 

Dufresne gave him a blank expression but seemed to be considering his words. He held out his hand toward the upper deck, and Flint went as directed. 

When he looked over his shoulder, Silver was behind him. The worry on his face, in his slumped posture, still won out over everything, but his eyes remained fixed on Flint and lit with intensity. 

While the crew argued about whether or not they should die for what they had done, they waited like they’d been asked to. Silver said nothing, but kept his distance and held his head like it ached. 

It made Flint want to soothe the pain away and he had to stop thinking like that. He’d already made it clear that nothing more would happen between them, and he couldn’t rely on Silver for anything. He couldn’t rely on anyone for anything. Even if Silver cared, it was foolish and the least Flint could do in return was stay distant and not let Silver come to harm due to association with him. 

Maybe once he figured out how to bring that gold back to Nassau, they could create something stable and meaningful. What if he and Silver and Miranda could find some way to be happy together? 

Jesus Christ, the blood loss and the blow to the head was getting to him. He was going delusional. Silver wouldn’t want to stay with him and the idea of bringing anyone else into whatever it was he had with Miranda would just be too much like replacing Thomas, and nothing could ever do that. Thomas was gone forever, and just that thought made Flint hurt more than was bearable.

He ran his fingers over the thick hair on his chin and had to think of a way to make the crew his again. He would fulfill that dream of a safe and prosperous Nassau. After everything that had happened to Thomas because of him, Flint had to manage that at the very least. 

As soon as Dufresne returned and reported that their sentences would only be banishment from the crew rather than anything more severe, Silver seemed to relax. Was he happy to be rid of Flint now? Their fates were no longer entwined, and his life had been spared. What would happen between them? There was nothing keeping them as allies any longer. As soon as they returned home, Silver could be gone from his life forever. 

It was just as well. What could they really have together? Why would Silver ever want to stick with him? It would be a terrible choice for him.

Silver chewed on the end of his thumb, a mirror of Flint’s own nervous beard-stroking tic. “You were right,” He met Flint’s eyes and seemed almost apologetic. “For what it’s worth.”

What exactly was he right about? “Beg pardon?”

“If your interests and mine were adverse to each other, there’s a good chance I’d cross you to save myself.” 

That was true of any man. Almost any man. At least those who were sensible enough to act with their brains rather than anything else. Flint had always led too much with his heart. He shouldn’t be surprised that it ended up shattered. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because at the moment,” Silver stood and swaggered over to where Flint was standing. “I don’t believe our interests are adverse to each other.” He sidled up too closely and leaned against the side of the ship right next to Flint. He smelled of nothing but sea and sunlight and the heat of his body radiated over Flint like a young, vibrant spring. It made his heart beat faster when Silver’s gaze fixed on him and that smooth, rich voice in his ear didn’t help. 

“I don’t believe you did any of this for a pardon. Or a passage to Nassau. Or to be able to walk away from anything.” He sounded delighted when he spoke, either because he knew he was right or because he knew what that might mean for the fate of that Spanish gold. “I think you intend to reclaim your captaincy.” Silver turned and moved close enough that their sides, from foot to shoulder, were touching. Flint had to force himself not to lean into that sliver of comfort. “I think you intend to take control of this ship. And I think you intend to return to that beach armed to the teeth and seize every last ounce of gold off of it. And I think you’re going to need my help to do it.” 

It had been a long time since anyone could read him that well. Or even at all. Miranda often knew what he was thinking and why he reacted the way he did, but she had the benefit of astute intuition, superior intellect, and a long history with him. Others might figure out when he was embellishing a tale or only divulging pieces of truth or flat out lying, but they rarely knew what he had in mind or who he really was aside from ruthless and narrowly focused. 

Silver had practically climbed into his thoughts and dug out exactly what was behind his words. He’d picked up on reasons behind Flint’s anger and somehow seemed to know Flint better than anyone except for the woman who’d known him for fifteen years. How was that possible? How could he do it so easily?

It meant Silver was dangerous, but he could also be valuable. If he was still willing to help Flint after everything they’d been through the last few months, he might be worth keeping around. At least for a while. 

Every step of the way, he'd had to cajole Gates into sticking with his plan. There was distance and distrust between them, largely from his own doing, but they’d always stuck to unspoken rules and kept their private, personal lives separate from anything they did on the ship. 

He couldn’t trust anyone with the truth. They’d use it against him.

Eleanor was the closest thing he had to a partner at the moment, but only because she wanted the same future for Nassau that he did. She didn’t know anything about him. She couldn’t. Even if she might understand more about what he felt, what he’d gone through because of how he’d loved Thomas. But maybe she wouldn’t; she’d given up whatever she’d had with that girl who loved her. Flint couldn’t have given up Thomas for anything. 

Except he had because Miranda told him they had to. The thought of how they’d left Thomas behind in that hell would never stop haunting him. Flint didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t manage to restore Nassau. How else could he make up for what he’d done and how he’d failed? 

Working with Gates and Eleanor wasn’t like having a partner who understood how he thought and what he meant even when he couldn’t say it. It wasn’t like strategizing with Thomas where they could talk about anything and everything and it was relaxed and easy and he never had to worry about saying something wrong or too revealing. It wasn’t like Miranda who would tell him when he was being too reckless, stubborn, and temperamental. It wasn’t like someone taking initiative and supporting his plan because they knew what he was trying to achieve. When was the last time someone had stood with him through anything?

When Flint looked at him, Silver smirked as if he’d known all along that he was right. “Tell me I’m wrong.” 

What could they accomplish if he and Silver worked together? What could he do if he had a partner at his side who was clever enough to think of things he hadn’t and bold enough to take him on? Someone who challenged what he had planned in a way that brought a better outcome than Flint could have predicted? Someone who was still there after everything had gone so badly. 

He would have this ship as his own. He was the only one on board who could take command and win them the prize they all desperately needed. If Silver was willing, Flint’s chances of success were that much better. He glanced over at the men still talking on the deck below them and dropped his hand from his chin. “Come on.” 

He moved from the warmth of having Silver near him and left the quarterdeck without a look back. If Silver followed him, he wouldn’t mind, but Flint wasn’t going to care if he didn’t. He took stairs and climbed down to a lower hold deep within the ship, away from the rest of the crew where they could talk strategy. Or if Silver didn’t follow, Flint could keep to himself away from the men who still would prefer to see him dead and think of some kind of plan on his own. 

The air below decks grew stale and smelled vividly of fish and salty ocean. He’d crossed below the water line and swore he could feel the way everything pressed in closer, reminding him of what it was like to have the sea drag him under. 

When he stopped in a room used for storage with large barrels of fresh water and massive sacks of grains, Silver was behind him. It would be easy to get used to; always finding Silver at his back, watching over him, standing with him. 

Silver cocked his head and searched Flint’s face. “I assume you want to discuss a plan of action for claiming the ship and how we might return for the gold. That is why we’re down here, right?”

That was the idea and what they should do. They’d come close to death so many times in the last twenty-four hours, and everything he wanted was still so far out of his reach. After getting so close, it was hard to believe they were really sailing away from it. But all he could think of at the moment was the way he was still living and breathing. 

There were mischievous sparks in Silver’s eyes, a glossy sheen on his tanned skin, and an easiness to his smile. His warmth was addicting; the way he tasted and felt even more so. Everything inside Flint had been dead for so long — he wanted to feel alive. He didn’t want to die anymore. He wanted something that felt as good as that kiss had. Was it that terrible if he finally gave in?

Flint stepped forward and placed his hand on the center of Silver’s chest. He pushed until Silver’s back hit the lower part of the mizzenmast, and he pressed Silver against it with his own body. 

A surprised gasp forced air from Silver’s chest. Something flashed in his vibrant blue eyes, but it wasn’t fear. How long had it been since anyone reacted to him as something other than a monster to be despised or destroyed? How long had it been since someone truly wanted _him_?

He cupped Silver’s face with one hand as he crushed their mouths together. It wasn’t anything like the first time they’d kissed. Nothing slow or uncertain. He wanted, demanded, and Silver melted against him, molding to him and moaning into Flint’s mouth. 

His hand tangled in Silver’s hair, sliding around the back of his neck and keeping him close. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to hold on even tighter. Silver had said he wanted to be possessed and Flint wanted to own. 

The kisses he gave were hard and rough, but Silver clung to him and dug fingers into his back and even his arse. He wouldn't stop until neither of them could breathe or move. He wanted to give Silver everything he’d asked for and claim all of him in return. 

He broke away from the kiss and Silver followed his mouth like he wanted to keep kissing him but was only left panting. Flint rubbed his thumb over Silver’s parted, wet lips. Silver sucked it into his mouth and pressed it with his teeth. 

A hot shiver washed over Flint’s skin and he pushed Silver harder into the mast, nearly lifting him off his feet. His voice came out closer to a dark growl than usual. “You still want me to fuck you?”

“Really?” Silver was breathless already and a smiled twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Yes. Fuck, yes.” He took Flint’s head in both of his hands and pulled him into another kiss. Several more kisses. Silver kissed him over and over like he couldn't get enough. 

Flint took the opportunity to push his hands under Silver’s clothes and tug them up until he could get his hands underneath and leave finger-shaped marks on him. 

Silver let go of him just long enough to shrug off his jacket and pull his shirt over his head, baring his beautiful, bronzed skin. Flint moved to pull off his own shirt, but his shoulder was stiff and had already been used more than it should have today. He winced and sucked in a breath and a startled, worried look overtook Silver’s face. 

“Wait, wait. Let me help.” He touched Flint gently and maneuvered the shirt off his good arm, over his head, and then down the arm that ached. He wrapped Flint in his arms and pressed his nose against Flint’s neck. “I want to ride you.” He rubbed his hands over Flint’s back and chest and nipped at Flint’s jaw. “Will you let me? Please?”

It wasn't exactly what Flint had in mind, but the idea of watching Silver move over him, spearing himself on Flint’s cock, was enough for him to ignore everything else. He didn’t quite have the strength to lift Silver in his arms and fuck him against the mast right now. Maybe another time. “Yes,” he said and then breathed softly, “I want you.” He gripped Silver hard, one hand on his hip and the other around the back of his neck, and kissed him so that he’d know how badly. 

Silver made noises that made him sound debauched and intoxicated as he stepped forward and walked them over to a corner. His hands frantically pulled at the fastenings on Flint’s trousers and pushed them down his thighs. He glanced at Flint for a second as if he couldn’t make a decision, but then dropped to his knees and sucked Flint’s cock into his warm, greedy mouth. 

“Jesus,” Flint made a fist in Silver's hair and laughed breathlessly. It sent jolts of heat through his body and made him ache for more. “Don’t do that too much. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you so hard you feel it for days.”

Silver stopped and grinned up at him as he stood. "I would never say no to that. Come sit here.” He guided Flint to sit against a canvas sack likely filled with rice and then stripped off his shoes and his own trousers and crawled naked onto Flint’s lap. His hands slid to Flint’s jaw and tilted his face up into another kiss with his tongue sliding over Flint's lips and teasing its way into his mouth. 

Winning a kiss really must have been that important to Silver if he slowed down and took that time to have it again. Flint pulled him closer until he could feel all of that smooth, warm skin pressed against him. He indulged Silver for a moment but wrapped his hand around both of their cocks so he could squeeze them and stroke them together. 

Silver squirmed and tried to grind against Flint but ended up breaking their kiss. “Fuck. I just… God. I need you.” He sounded wrecked and lost. “Please, fuck me.”

Flint wrapped an arm around Silver to keep him steady. “I’ve barely done anything to you.”

Silver laughed but it came out strained. “You have no fucking idea. Just. Please. I'll beg if you want me to. I'll do whatever. I just want you." He nuzzled Flint’s neck, bit the curve between it and his uninjured shoulder, and gripped the muscles on his chest. “I need your cock. I need you to fuck me. Please, fuck me.” He rocked against Flint, rubbing his flushed and dripping cock along Flint’s stomach. 

Flint pressed his fingers against Silver’s mouth, growing dizzy with heat and the sheer amount of want Silver had for him. “Get them wet.”

Silver moaned and devoured Flint's fingers much like he had Flint’s cock. He swirled his tongue over Flint's knuckles and licked them until they were covered in his saliva. He pressed his teeth to the thickest fleshy part of Flint's forefinger when he was done and lifted up on his knees. He rested his forehead against Flint’s, breath coming damp and heavy over Flint’s face as he panted. 

Flint reached underneath him and pressed his slick fingers behind Silver’s balls, teasing them across the entrance to his body. Silver let out a low, impatient whine, but then Flint slid one finger into him and Silver sighed and tried to take more. It made him wince and stop breathing for a second. 

Flint brushed his lips over Silver's ear and rubbed his free hand over Silver’s spine. “Breathe. Relax. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to fuck you. I want you to enjoy it.”

Silver’s breath hitched and he gripped and squeezed the flesh of Flint’s chest then buried his face in Flint's good shoulder. His right hand remained resting over Flint’s heart while the other slid through Flint’s hair and set it free from its tie. 

It should bother him. But Flint didn’t want to think of anything but this right now. He worked Silver slowly and tried not to hit that spot inside that could be too sensitive and too much for Silver right now. When he made it up to three fingers, Silver sat up, spit in his own hand, and started stroking Flint. 

It made him dizzy and impatient, and he curved his fingers and teased until Silver cried desperately and begged for him again. His head was swimming in heat and the smell of seawater in Silver’s hair and sweat on his skin. Flint withdrew his fingers and grasped the back of Silver’s shoulder, holding him tightly. “Suck me. Get me slick so I can fuck you.”

Immediately, Silver moved and bent down over him, sucking as much of Flint's cock into his mouth as possible. Flint arched and all the air in his lungs left him. 

He’d never been that commanding when it came to sex; he used to be afraid to say anything out of fear that a man would be disgusted by him for actually wanting it, and then Thomas had wanted him so badly, James had been happy to give himself over and let Thomas take everything. But Silver was so good at listening to any order Flint had when it resulted in them fucking. It’d be easy to get used to it. 

When Silver came back up, he sat on Flint’s thighs, plastered himself to Flint’s body, and kissed him hard. “Now. Please. I need you to fuck me.”

Flint sucked Silver’s lower lip and teased with his tongue, clutching Silver’s back to keep them together. “Do it, then. Let me have you.”

Silver rocked back against him then reached between them and grasped Flint’s cock. He threw his head back and moaned, a deep, guttural sound as he finally took Flint inside him. 

Breath left him and Flint was caught in nothing but heat and Silver’s tight grip, and even with the dull throbbing in his shoulder, it was better than he’d felt in ages. He was flushed and surrounded by something that felt so good, he didn’t know if he could bear it. 

He smoothed a hand over Silver's chest and planted his feet on the floor, thrusting up hard, ready to take everything he’d been offered. Silver made loud, needy noises, and Flint took a fistful of his dark curls and pulled his head to the side. He licked a thick line up Silver’s neck, eliciting a breathy, ticklish laugh before he bit just below Silver’s ear and earned another obscenely loud moan. 

Flint let go of Silver’s hair to cover his mouth with a hand as he moved up hard into Silver’s body. The closeness was overwhelming, the way Silver moaned and held onto him and seemed to need Flint as much as he had said, there was no way he would last very long. 

Silver whimpered and clawed at Flint’s chest with his thick fingers, leaving light red streaks on his fair skin, and then moved Flint’s hand from his mouth. But he held it instead of shoving it away. “Everyone knows. After everything I did for you, after everything we did together, it’s painfully obvious.”

Flint slid his tongue over Silver’s lips, needing to taste the breath that drifted over his lips and cheeks. “Do you want them to interrupt? Do you remember that morning and how we didn’t get to finish?” He wrapped his good arm around the small of Silver's back and used the leverage to shove himself harder into that addicting heat. “I wanted you. I loved how you felt. I love how your mouth feels wrapped around me. But I didn't get to have you again. I don't want them to hear. No one should find us.”

Silver moved Flint’s hand back to where it had been, covering his mouth, and shoved himself down. Even then, he moaned but did attempt to stifle it against Flint’s hand. 

Flint bit Silver’s neck so he could see the indentations of his teeth, proof that at least for a few moments, Silver was his. All of this was his and he wasn’t going to let go. He shoved his hand between them and wrapped it around Silver’s cock, pumping him quickly as they both moved faster against each other until Flint’s whole body ached. 

His muscles were straining and everything hurt but felt so good at the same time. His body was completely wrenched and caught between pain and sharp fire that engulfed him and took all of him, and Silver sobbed and somehow found his mouth and stole everything he had left. 

He jerked as he came and it hurt his shoulder and his head, but at least for a moment, none of that pain mattered. Silver cried out something that might have been a name but he buried it in Flint's shoulder and spasmed against him, rocking back and forth and shoving himself onto Flint’s cock even after he’d shot thick, bursts of come all over Flint's stomach. He whimpered and moved like it was completely involuntary and he just wanted more, even after he’d all but collapsed on top of Flint and buried his face in his good shoulder. 

Flint wrapped an arm around him, the one it didn’t hurt to move, and pressed a kiss in Silver’s hair. He didn’t turn away, but stayed breathing in Silver's hair and the smell of his body, the smell of the sex they’d had. 

Silver mumbled something that sounded barely coherent and lightly ran his fingers over whatever part of Flint he could reach. 

Flint nudged him with his nose. “What was that?”

Silver lifted himself a little, just enough so he could hold Flint’s cheek and give him long, lingering kisses. “James. James,” he whispered against Flint’s lips. “You feel so good.”

Flint swallowed and then gave him a look. 

Silver sat back and tried to catch his breath. “You called me John. I can’t exactly call you ‘Captain.’ Dufresne gets irritated with me when I do.” 

There had to be something more fitting. His name, his real name that no one but Miranda called him now, was far too intimate. Too personal. Maybe he’d gone too far. He’d been so caught up in how good it felt having someone who wanted him, someone he wanted. It wasn’t wise. It wouldn't end well. Something like this never could.

Silver was just... convenient. He wouldn't love Flint. He wouldn't stick around long enough to know anything of James. “‘Flint’ is good enough.” 

Silver sighed heavily and nodded. He pushed himself up, wincing as he did, and half-heartedly cleaned himself up before he found his new clothes and pulled them on. “I’m starving. I’m going scavenging for food. Are you hungry? Do you want to join me?”

Flint breathed in deeply and rested back against the sack of rice after he'd wiped all traces of Silver from his body with his torn, ratty shirt and somehow managed to pull on his trousers. He was utterly drained and sore despite the embers of rapturous warmth that still glowed in all his muscles. “I don’t want to move. For at least a few hours.”

Silver looked him over with a frown. “All right, then.” He turned and left without another word and something twinged inside Flint that had nothing to do with exhaustion or the injuries he'd suffered. 

It was better that way. He wasn’t attached to Silver and they could never be anything to each other but a brief memory. At least it was a good one. Unless something unfortunate happened. Still, the ease at which Silver left him alone, how quick he was to turn and leave him here, it was too much like rejection and abandonment. Why was it always nothing or everything? Would there ever be something in between? Or were these fleeting moments exactly what in between was?

Flint shoved at the bag behind him until he had something like a headrest and folded his arms over his body, hoping to keep his one arm immobile for at least a little while. 

He dozed a little, lulled by the waves and the rhythmic rocking of the ship. Noise woke him and put him on a full alert. How could anyone find him down here? And why would they?

When Silver walked through the door, he was washed in relief. But then couldn’t understand. “What are you doing here?”

Silver tipped his head and set down a bundle he’d been carrying. “What do you mean? Did you think I ran off and left you down here with nothing?” He separated the items he'd been carrying into two piles and looked at Flint when he received no answer. “You thought I wasn’t coming back.”

Should he have thought differently? Had there been a reason to? No matter how much sex they had, it wouldn’t change anything. Whatever was between them didn't mean anything. It wouldn’t last. Flint had to be practical. 

Silver frowned but it was quickly replaced with something that looked like sympathy. It looked odd on him. Actually, it looked odd directed toward Flint and coming from anyone who wasn’t Miranda regardless of who it was. 

“Here,” Silver set a few things near Flint’s thigh. Some dried meat, biscuits, an orange, some cheese, something that might have been a jar of pickled vegetables, and a bottle of liquid. Judging by the smell, it was likely wine. Then Silver pried open one of the casks of water and filled a mug with it. He laid out cloth and gauze, and dipped a square of fabric into his cup of water. “Will you let me? I brought these to clean and bandage your shoulder. Howell found them actually, but he let me take some.”

“You want to bandage my shoulder?”

“It would be better than bleeding everywhere, wouldn’t it?” Silver gave him a smile and crawled over until he was back straddling Flint’s lap. Gently, he pressed the damp cloth to the little hole just below Flint's collarbone. He flinched at the sting but Silver moved slowly and kept only the lightest amount of pressure as he cleaned off the little streaks of blood. After he’d done the same to the back of Flint’s shoulder, he slid his arm under Flint's and lifted it. 

The movement hurt more than Flint expected. He shouldn’t have moved his arm at all after the gunshot through his shoulder, but he didn't exactly have a choice. It was easy to ignore the pain in the heat of the moment when he was focused on keeping himself and Silver alive, but he was beyond exhaustion now and even this much motion strained his muscles and sent jolts of pain through his body. Holding his arm up at all was too much. He turned his head away and bit his lips together. “Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

Silver moved closer and kissed the curve of Flint’s cheek. “Let your arm rest on mine. This won’t take long. I promise.”

Flint lowered his arm a little and let Silver take some of the weight as he pressed gauze to both sides of Flint’s shoulder and wrapped a strip of cloth around and under his arm to keep them from moving. When he finished, he lowered Flint’s arm very slowly with his own and then let it rest against Flint’s body as it had before. Silver soaked the cloth in water again, rung it out, and washed the rest of the blood from Flint’s face. His fingers would slip through Flint’s hair and his gaze was so intent and focused on what he was doing. 

It made Flint's chest ache. It was too heavy and stretched too tightly. He was warm as if he drank bottles of alcohol, but it wasn’t nauseating or unnerving like drinking so much was. Maybe it was a little disconcerting. Everyone expected him to be soulless, heartless, impervious. Few people saw him as something actually human. Someone with weaknesses, who could suffer damage and feel pain because of it. 

What did Silver think of him? How could a man, who supposedly only cared about himself, do so much just so Flint wouldn't be in pain? Just so Flint was taken care of? Silver might want something out of him, but most people did. And they didn’t treat him like this. 

Once Silver had inspected the wound on Flint’s skull and, presumably, cleaned him of any more dried blood, he stroked Flint’s cheek with his thumb and smiled softly. “I found you a shirt as well. I’ll help you put it on if you want.”

Flint reached up with his good arm and hooked two fingers in the front of Silver’s shirt. He tugged gently and pulled him forward until their lips met. It wasn’t heated or full of ulterior intention. It was simple, soft and thankful. 

Silver still made a tiny, whimper noise and rested his hand on Flint’s chest. They looked at each other for a moment, but Flint didn’t know what to say and for once, Silver didn’t seem to know either. They ate some of the food in silence and shared the single orange. It made the whole space they’d found smell of the sweet citrus that reminded him of Silver, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. 

When they finished eating, Silver sat against the wall near him and let Flint rest against the sack of grain and sleep in peace. He wasn't sure if Silver stayed or returned to the upper decks with the rest of the crew, but Flint was far too exhausted to care at the moment. 

A jostle of waves rocked the ship and woke Flint some time later, but his body still ached and longed for rest. He shifted slightly and readjusted his arm, and found Silver asleep on the floor beside him with his head propped on Flint’s thigh. 

Flint ran his hand over Silver’s dark curls and let it stay resting on Silver's shoulder before he closed his eyes and tried to sleep again.


	10. Spanish Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Silver is drowning in questions and has massive hearteyes for his captain and they both earn their way back into the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sorry for the hiatus, my lovelies! Life decided to be complicated, but I can't stay away from my pirate boys! Happy Season 3! <3

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep. He’d only stayed close to Flint to listen to his breathing and ensure that it remained existent and unencumbered. The memory of the shallow, difficult breaths that threatened to take Flint away forever was still too vivid in Silver’s mind. If he lay close to Flint, he could feel him breathe; he could feel his warmth. The slow, steady movement was comforting. The closeness was. Even if Silver couldn’t say exactly why. 

He could taste Flint’s breath on his tongue. If he pressed his lips together, he swore the prickle of Flint’s beard was still right there on Silver’s skin. He couldn’t have dreamed any of it. The feel of Flint’s mouth against his — the slow-burning, starved, furious kisses they’d shared weren’t simply a fantasy any more. Maybe it was to make him shut up or distract him or possibly even thank him? Silver couldn’t tell. So much about Flint still eluded him. But those kisses were real. Nothing really mattered when Flint was kissing him. 

Silver had kissed quite a few people and some of them were very, very good at it, and sometimes it was exactly what he wanted and had hoped for. But kissing Flint wasn’t like any of those things. It took over everything else. His heart went too fast and his whole body ached with need and he couldn’t think of anything but how good, how perfect it felt having that man in his arms, kissing him like there was nothing else in the world. 

He never wanted to stop. His heart pounded too hard just thinking about it. Flint was too captivating, too intriguing, and Silver wanted to learn him. Anything and everything about him.

There wasn’t a strategical reason why; he simply wanted to. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. With the exception of freedom. But freedom was vague and ranged from something as simple as having food to eat when he was hungry to something as grand as a lush home with servants who would tend to him and take care of anything he asked. 

The desire for an unrestricted, luxurious life didn’t pulse in his blood and invade all of his thoughts and make him want until he ached. Flint was different and more clever than anyone Silver had ever met. He smelled good and he felt good, and Silver licked his lips and ran his hand along the thigh beneath his head. 

Flint gripped Silver’s shoulder and shifted away from the touch. “Unless you want me to piss on you, you need to get off me.” He held Silver at a distance with a stiff arm, but the grip disappeared when Silver sat up as requested. “And if you are inclined to want that, don’t tell me because I’m not going to.” Flint pushed himself up and even in the dim light, Silver saw the wince Flint made when he moved his injured shoulder. 

It made him want to soothe the ache away, but that wasn’t at all possible so Silver pushed the thought aside. 

Flint looked around the dimly lit hold. “Did you say you found me a shirt?”

Silver pulled it out from under the bandaging supplies Howell had given him. The smell of ocean, likely from dead creatures stuck between the walls, was more prominent now that Silver’s mind wasn’t fogged with lust, and his hips and spine ached from sleeping on the unforgiving wooden deck. But he gave Flint a winning smile anyway. “I can help you put it on if you want.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Flint inspected the bandage Silver had wrapped around his shoulder. It held only a small spot of darkness on the white, so he tugged the shirt over his head, mostly with his one arm, and left the little room where they’d slept. Without a word. 

Silver pushed himself up and hurried in the direction Flint had gone. It wasn’t difficult to catch up with him, and he knew Flint apparently needed to relieve himself so it wasn’t as if Silver was deliberately being left behind. However much it felt that way. 

Flint stopped just short of the deck with the crew’s bunks and turned to face him. Was he thinking of a way to scold Silver? Or of something to say that would make him leave Flint alone? 

Whatever was going on in Flint’s mind, Silver could guess the outcome. It made heaviness settle in the pit of his stomach even if there was no reason for it. Silver took a breath and a step backward. “Is this the part where you tell me this won't happen again and that it was a mistake or an aberration that it happened at all? And if I come near you and try to seduce you, you won’t hesitate to shoot me?”

Flint looked at him with an inscrutable expression. He wasn’t annoyed or angry or even regretful. It was something else and Silver should be able to figure it out but he couldn’t and it started gnawing at his insides. What was Flint’s game? What was he thinking? Silver was usually so good at reading people, and he should be getting better at figuring out Flint, not worse. Flint’s voice was mild, measured, different than the threatening, fearsome pirate captain he should be. Though perhaps it was congruent with the angry, broken man that certainly existed behind all that. “It’s not as if that worked the first time.”

Something skipped in Silver’s chest. Did that mean Flint still wanted him? That Silver could have him again? Was Silver actually breaking through something? He knew Flint kissing him was a victory, but he had no idea how significant it might be. Did it mean that Flint trusted him? Or that he wanted to at least? He wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d won Flint over completely. But he’d won something. He’d found cracks now big enough to slip through, and all he had to do was keep going.

“There isn’t really a point in saying ‘never.’ Somehow, it manages to happen. No matter what we do. If you want more, I’m sure you’ll find a way to get it.” Flint’s gaze traveled over Silver and made him shiver. Resignation had never sounded so enticing. Was it just that Silver wanted it so much? “But I know you got what you wanted. I won’t be holding my breath waiting for more.”

He walked off and left Silver by himself. 

This time, Silver didn’t follow. How could something bring such fervent elation and crushing defeat all at once? 

What did Flint even want? Perhaps he was attempting to prove he was unaffected by Silver and that anything they’d done together meant nothing. Such a response was not an unfamiliar one. Fucking never meant anything. At least not to him, and not in this world where he was only ever supposed to have a little wife, and sex was only supposed to be for producing children. What could Flint ever be to him but a memory of a few good fucks? 

Could he ever be more than that? Could Flint be someone who always slept beside Silver and kept him warm at night? Could Flint be someone who wouldn’t leave him? Someone who would want Silver to stick around?

Would Silver want that? The lure of having someone who was always on his side and looking out for him had never affected him before. But now there was tugging in his chest like sirens calling to him. If he could have a partner — a real partner, one he trusted, one who would complement him, work with him, value him, want him, need him — it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It actually sounded appealing enough that he might long for it if he let himself. But it was also incredibly dangerous. Investing oneself in another person got people killed. Or worse. And as good of a fuck as Flint was, nothing about being with him would be easy. 

Why hadn’t Silver left him on the beach? Why hadn’t he left Flint to the Spaniards? Why had he ever sided with him at all? There might be something different, something extraordinary about Flint, maybe even something that Silver had never found in anyone before and something he very much wanted to keep, but what could ever come of it? He knew better than to believe any alliance wouldn’t end in betrayal or tragedy. 

This wouldn’t be any different. It would end the same way as everything else. Why did it feel like he wanted it to be different?

The ship lurched over a wave and his stomach dropped but the queasiness was not from the sea alone. Silver wandered to the galley to find food that would hopefully quell the churning in his gut. The ship was certainly large enough that he could avoid anyone should he choose to. 

But it was more difficult when they approached him. 

Logan appeared out of nowhere; Silver abandoned the oat mush he’d found that tasted about as good as he felt, leapt to his feet, and grabbed the item nearest to his hand. His weapon of choice turned out to be a metal cooking pan, but it was better than nothing and he held it in front of his body as he might a sword or shield. 

Logan laughed but raised his hands to show his lack of weaponry. “Don’t worry, mate. I wanted to apologize.”

Silver lowered the cooking pan but still kept it close to his body. “Apologize?” 

“Course. We got into it a bit, but I can’t blame you for doing what you did.” Logan lifted a full decanter and held it out like a peace offering. “Thought I’d come tell you there are no hard feelings. Here.” Logan pulled the cork out of the bottle, took a drink, then again held it out for Silver to take. 

Silver glanced between the offered bottle and Logan’s face. He seemed sincere enough. There was nothing menacing in his stance. It didn’t mean he wasn’t trying to get something out of Silver, but even if he had a short fuse, Logan was hardly Flint. 

Silver took the bottle and sipped a little. It earned him a pleased smile and Logan leaning against the wall beside him. At least there was someone other than Randall and hopefully Flint who wasn’t fixed on ousting Silver from the crew as soon as possible. “When you say you can’t blame me,” Silver handed the bottle back to Logan. “Why is that? I would have thought most of the crew blamed me or Flint. Or both.”

Logan chuckled and shook his head. “Most of them probably do.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth. “But most of them don’t understand. I would have done the same thing for Charlotte. No matter how goddamn stupid it might have been. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it were her doing the asking.”

He held out the bottle again but Silver stared at him and didn’t move. Or breathe. “For…” The whore Logan was supposedly in love with? “What do you mean? How is that the same?”

“Come on, it’s fucking obvious. Why else would you have followed Flint? You hardly seem stupid. Though I suppose that could be argued. No offense, of course.”

Silver was actually too unnerved to be offended. What was fucking obvious? What did he care if someone thought he was stupid? It was a good trick to use. Whatever Logan was talking around was likely a thousand times worse.

“You were around when Singleton was trying to claim the Walrus. You’ve seen how Flint is. You know everything he’s done and led us into in the last half a year has failed. You know he’s an arrogant, elitist son of a bitch. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone, especially not the crew. Most people associated with him end up dead. You know they say that witch woman he has back in Nassau actually carved out his heart because he wanted to murder and lie and destroy people without a conscience?”

“Yes, I’ve heard all the bullshit.” Silver hadn’t actually heard that one, but the mention of Flint’s mysterious Nassau woman made his insides twist even more than the recount of everything else terrible Flint had done. The bottle in Logan’s hand looked more and more appealing, and Silver took it from him and downed a bigger drink. 

Logan didn’t stop him. Instead, he gave Silver a moderately sad, somewhat concerned look that seemed very much like sympathy. “Sometimes, we can’t help ourselves. Whatever we feel is too strong. It takes over everything else. Nothing matters but the fact that they need something. They just draw us in and we never want to break free.”

Silver stared at nothing and made a precise, conscious effort to breathe slowly and carefully. Was Logan honestly suggesting what Silver thought he was suggesting? Did he really think there was anything stupid and frivolous like love that was between Flint and Silver? How could there ever be anything like it? Why would Silver care about anyone? What the actual fuck?

“Most people think I don’t realize what she does to earn a living, but I do. Don’t really care though. I ain’t no saint either. She’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met.” Logan’s voice grew wistful and his gaze turned distant like there really wasn’t anything else in the world that mattered to him. “I think about her every moment I’m away from her. I love the way she feels all soft and delicate, and the way she smells and tastes sweet and dark like really good rum. It wouldn’t matter to me what she did, I’d love her anyway. I’d always be on her side.”

Silver couldn’t possibly be anywhere near that bad. Even if he was intrigued by Flint. Even if he did enjoy being with him a little too much. “You think that I… That Flint is… that I love…” Silver started but his voice turned far too high and thin and squeaky. He coughed, tried to clear his throat, and drank deeply before he continued. “It’s nothing like that. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing like that.” Even if Flint wasn’t like anyone Silver had ever met. Even if he also thought about nothing but how Flint felt and smelled and tasted sometimes. Silver was still not anything like Logan and his woefully misguided feelings for a woman who likely didn’t reciprocate any sort of real affection for him. 

Logan laughed but not like he was joking. He laughed like he didn’t believe Silver at all. “Really, then how the fuck do you explain why you covered for him when he murdered crewmen? Or why you defended him after everything he’s done has gone to shit and gotten the crew killed? Or why you didn’t leave him to the sea when he should have drowned?”

Silver’s mouth fell open and he couldn’t make it close. He had his reasons. None of them had to do with being in love. But he couldn’t prove it and Logan likely wouldn’t believe him anyway. 

It wasn't love. It was nothing like love. Silver had fucked and been fucked by hundreds of people. Fucking didn’t mean anything and Flint didn’t mean anything, and Silver had sure as fucking hell never loved anyone in the entirety of his life. He wasn’t about to start now. 

He took a long drink and found his fingers tense and gripping the glass neck of the decanter far too tightly. 

Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, mate. It’ll be all right. If you want, I’m sure we could find you a nice woman instead.”

“I don’t need a woman.” He didn’t need anything. Except maybe breathing. He knew how to do that. He just needed to breathe.

“Ah, well we could find you a man if that’s your thing. I know some prefer it. Don’t have to worry about squalling bundles and mouths to feed and all that.”

Silver opened his mouth to say something, but what could he say? What the fuck was wrong with him? “I don’t need anything.” More specifically, anyone. He never had and he never would. People were a detriment to survival. 

“Everyone does sometimes. No shame in needing it. If you decide you’d prefer someone besides Flint, I’m sure Charlotte would know of someone for you. She’s wonderful you know. She can draw anything you can think of and it will look exactly like it. She could be a real artist. Famous and everything one day.”

Silver nodded but didn’t even remember what he was nodding for. Logan’s words blurred together and nausea rolled through him like waves. Did he need fresh air or more liquor? Or did he need to go on deck and puke up whatever was in his stomach? All of it sounded appealing at the moment. “Thanks for the drink. I need some air.” He handed Logan the nearly empty bottle and didn’t wait to hear his response. He went up where he could take in as much crisp, wet air as he could. Maybe it would help clear his head. 

The sun was still rising and it colored the sky orange. Silver climbed the rigging and insisted he take the watch in the crow’s nest for a few hours. It wasn’t hard to convince the man on duty to leave him up there, but he imagined their acting captain would have something to say against letting him think he was a crew member when he was not one. It didn’t matter for the moment. Silver would use whatever time to himself that he had. 

It was quiet and as long as Dufresne or De Groot didn’t know, no one would bother Silver for a few hours at least. He could actually think up here, away from the gossip and animosity of the crew, away from Flint and whatever magic he’d used on Silver. It was almost like he was back on a merchant ship and they’d never been intercepted by Captain Flint, and none of this had ever happened.

Almost, but not quite. This was a warship, manned by pirates, and Silver was tangled up in the fate of its real captain if nothing else. He didn’t want to leave Flint to himself. He seriously needed to get a hold of himself if Logan thought Silver’s situation was anything akin to his ill-conceived love for a whore who surely didn’t return his feelings. But Silver didn’t want to leave yet. 

If there was any hope of walking away with his prize, then Silver needed Flint. What did it matter what the crew thought? If they assumed that Silver was in love, he could use that to his advantage just like anything else. They’d have to expect Silver to follow Flint blindly into anything, and even with what Flint was like, it would be imprudent not to expect that Flint would defend and protect Silver if any of them attempted to harm him. That was certainly something Silver could work with. 

In the end, it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought about him and Flint because none of it was true and Silver could always twist it to his benefit and get out of whatever situation he was in. Obviously, Silver wasn’t actually in love because love was not something he would ever do. Flint would have a plan, he always had a plan, and Silver doubted there was anything Flint wanted more than he wanted that gold. 

All Silver had to do was stick it out a while longer. He knew the truth. Even if Logan’s theory disturbed him, it wasn’t accurate. Just to be safe however, he avoided Flint and anyone who wasn’t Randall for the next day. Even if Silver was going to be expelled from the ship as soon as they reached their port, Randall still needed someone’s help. And most of the time, he didn’t seem to mind when Silver talked. Whether or not he listened was another question entirely. 

But there were plenty of things a person could do that were worse than tolerate him. Or ignore him. Even if being ignored felt like the most horrific rejection in history. 

Flint appeared in the galley after most of the crew had turned in for the night. He said nothing to Silver, though in all fairness he didn’t speak to Randall or anyone else in the vicinity, and instead collected a few items from food storage and disappeared. It was all too quick and Silver couldn’t help wondering how he was or what he was doing or if he was feeling sick or if he was in pain or what his plans were for taking back command. 

He stared at the doorway where Flint had disappeared until he remembered Logan’s words about Charlotte, and then Silver felt trapped and caged and even the massive Spanish warship wasn’t big enough to alleviate those feelings. But in the morning, he woke to find Flint sitting at one of the crew’s dining tables, close enough that Silver could go and talk to him. He was close enough that Silver could touch him and smell him, and Silver’s thoughts wandered to Flint’s hands on his body and his lips on Silver’s mouth and his cock buried deep inside Silver, and maybe it wasn’t as bad as Logan thought because it certainly couldn’t be to that extent. But it was bad. 

How could he stop wanting Flint? Why did he want to have Flint? What would happen if he still thought of Flint even after he’d obtained his share of gold? How could Silver rid himself of these thoughts and whatever the fuck it was that he felt? 

When Flint stood and moved to leave again, Silver went to him before he managed to disappear. “My offer still stands,” Silver said quietly and attempted to brush it off as something unimportant. Because it wasn’t important. It couldn’t be. “Whatever you’re planning, I imagine you’ll need some assistance. And you’re the only man on this ship I would call captain.” 

It was saying too much. It was the exact opposite of untangling himself from Flint and whatever relentlessly drove him forward. But it was simply meant to flatter and win favor. He was using the same tools he always used. He wasn’t a stranger to dishonesty. This was no different from agreeing with Morley about his mutiny or proposing a deal with Hamund. None of it was true. The only side he was on was his own.

Why did everything feel like a lie? Why the fuck did it matter if he was lying? Which part was he lying about?

Flint studied him for a moment but either didn’t find the answer he wanted or didn’t care what the answer might be. He left Silver without saying anything, and even though Silver imagined he could find Flint hiding far below for the night in the same spot where they’d slept together, he couldn’t go to him. He needed to free himself and get rid of whatever obsessive thoughts and feelings he was having. 

Logan had fucked with him. That was all it was. Logan’s words completely threw him off, but they were beyond absurd. How could he ever love Flint? He didn’t even know the man. There was an intense, undeniable attraction between them, but there was nothing real or trustworthy or beyond the physical about them. Silver was losing it over nothing. Flint didn’t matter. He was a means to an end. 

It was difficult to remember such a thing when Flint sat by himself in the galley and stared at nothing like he was adrift in another time and place. What had led Flint into a life of piracy? How had he become the unrelenting, ruthless man everyone spoke of as being the most cruel and unforgiving captain on the high seas? How could those tales of heartlessness be reconciled with what Silver felt? Why would he care for someone cold and murderous even a little? 

Did he care about Flint? Was that possible? Love was far too strong a word, not to mention far too fictional or misguided a concept. But he hadn’t wanted to see Flint die. There was care in that. He did enjoy Flint’s company far more than that of anyone else he’d ever met. There were things that Silver wouldn’t mind sharing with Flint. He was a good fuck, and he also wasn’t mindless or easily swayed. It was refreshing to talk to someone who could keep up with and maybe even surpass Silver in certain areas. 

But it could only end as some horrific tragedy. Silver needed to get away from all this. He needed to keep his distance. His head wasn’t right when he was around Flint. Still, when Flint spoke to him in a hushed, intimate tone, it was difficult to remember something that wasn’t how Flint felt against him. Or how good it would be to always have Flint at his side. 

“You could walk away from all this if you wanted.”

Could he? Silver looked to Flint and didn’t have the answer. Everything was closing in around him and he was getting far too tangled up in it. 

“The moment we arrive at Nassau, you’re free to go anywhere you want. And yet you’ve offered to help me regain control of this crew. Why would you do that?”

He wasn’t free. He’d never been free. His choices had always been forced, made because he had to survive or because something was demanded of him. And Flint still acted like he couldn’t fathom someone helping him. Then again, Silver didn’t have a good explanation for why he was here either. He settled for the obvious. “You mean aside from the share of gold I’d get out of it?”

Maybe Flint was lonely. He certainly had reason not to trust anyone. What if Flint needed someone? What if Flint wanted Silver? 

No need for that train of thought. For some unfathomable reason, it would only make Silver want to alleviate Flint’s pain, and that only left them more intwined. He wanted freedom from a great many things, but none of those things terrified him the way the idea of being in love terrified him. He would not be taken in by anyone. He would not be swayed to some misguided, bullshit self-sacrifice. 

The only thing that mattered at all was Silver. His own survival and his future, which could never be on a pirate ship. Or any ship at all. He was sick of the water, the lengthy voyages, the terrible food, not to mention the violence that he never wanted any part of. It put his own life and limbs at far too much risk. Remaining with Flint’s crew was about one thing and one thing only — five million Spanish dollars. 

Love didn’t even exist. Not really. People fooled themselves into believing it did all the time. It wasn’t a possibility. There would never be an opportunity for it in this life anyway. Freedom was the biggest prize he could hope for. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The fire had nearly died out during the long hours of the gathering, yet it seemed as if barely any time had passed. It wasn’t often that he felt welcome anywhere. Even on the ships he’d worked on for years, he was an outsider. Though he’d been surrounded by lords and ladies, wealthy land-owners and politicians and all manner of members of high society tonight, James hadn’t felt out of place. It was possible they offered him respect because of the uniform he wore, but he’d still felt no scorn or judgement for the family he’d been born into, the lack of wealth or power that he had. 

It made him reluctant to cross the city to his small lodging where there was no warmth or joy or freely given acceptance. He wanted these embers of belonging to last. Perhaps he would be able to stay until the fire in the now empty parlor faded into smoke and ash. It would be all too soon in any case, and the sound of footsteps behind him surely meant he’d be seen out to a carriage as soon as possible. 

Lord Hamilton appeared at his side covered in golden firelight that seemed even brighter when it touched him, as if he was a better source of glowing warmth. “How did you find my salon tonight, Lieutenant?”

“Fascinating. Indescribable,” James said, for lack of sufficient words to explain it. Lady Hamilton’s word was likely the only one that could come close to conveying the experience. 

There was light in Lord Hamilton’s eyes when he spoke to all his guests. His words were not simply rhetoric or wistful stories. There was passion behind them; as if he lived and breathed and would bleed and die for the principles he spoke of. When he talked of virtue, it wasn’t on how those who were “impure” should be punished. When he talked of poverty, it wasn’t to malign those who suffered from it. Justice was not only for nobility, prejudice and hatred were far too prevalent, and empathy, real genuine care and compassion, was paramount. 

James couldn’t tear his eyes away for a moment. If only more people thought like him. If only more people called for rethinking ideals and dismantling institutionalized bigotry. The world might actually change for the better. If only people actually listened when Lord Hamilton spoke.

 _“It is not the misfortunate that are a blight on our nation,” Lord Hamilton had said to his gathered friends. “But those who are prosperous and choose to ignore. How can we speak of what is just if we turn a blind eye to those in need? We’re taught to be merciful. To follow His examples and practice humility, compassion, forgiveness. And yet such acceptance, such love and kindness is one of the rarest things in the world.”_

What had Lord Hamilton seen, what had he been through that he knew the absence of kindness, acceptance, or love? He and his wife were hardly lacking in such things. They were happier and more loving toward each other than any couple James had ever known. 

It made his own chest ache with emptiness. He couldn’t be jealous, but he was envious at the very least. He’d never felt such affection for anyone and the prospect of marriage came with trepidation and dread rather than excitement. Love was hardly a requisite for marriage, but he wouldn’t mind sharing his life with someone he could relate to, someone who shared his interests. Love was fantasy and almost certainly impossible, but companionship was at least something other than solitude. 

If he could find companionship akin to what he felt tonight, perhaps James would not feel he was lacking anything. He’d never known such kindness or lack of judgment and scorn before Lord Hamilton. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of being seen as…” James let his words die off. It wasn’t like him to speak of such things, and no matter how welcoming and idealistic Lord Hamilton might be, it was still inappropriate for James to share such personal, private thoughts with him. 

Lord Hamilton tilted his head and offered an encouraging smile. “Being seen as what, Lieutenant?”

James swallowed and felt exposed. His private thoughts and feelings should always be kept to himself. He couldn’t let anyone know what he truly thought. He couldn’t let anyone know what he felt. But it was difficult to ignore the soft, sparkling way Lord Hamilton smiled. “As someone who was welcome. I felt… like I belonged here,” he said but quickly added, “With people who were so gracious and understanding. My background, my lack of education and nobility was not an issue. In fact, those who spoke to me treated me as an equal.” When James glanced up, there was an even brighter, warmer smile on his lord’s face. “I had not experienced such a reception before.”

Lord Hamilton rested a hand on James’ shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that. You are most certainly welcome, James. I would hope that you might find you belong here.”

Fluttering swirled in James’ stomach. “Thank you, Lord Hamilton.” His heart beat too fast and he shouldn’t stand so near to this beautiful man because it would only bring horrific, sinful thoughts to his diseased mind. But how could he turn away? Lord Hamilton was so full of kindness, he was so inspiring and captivating, and no one before him had ever spoken to James in such an accepting way. 

“Please call me Thomas,” he said and smiled in the sparkling way that made James want to do anything for him. “I couldn’t bear to have you call me anything so formal.”

James nodded and couldn’t help but return the gesture. “Thomas. Thank you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Earning his way back into the crew wasn’t an issue. Never would be. Silver knew how to make men trust him and how to bring them onto his side. He could talk his way out of anything. Or into anything for that matter. Occasionally, it took longer than expected, but he always won out in the end. 

What would it take to get Flint to trust him? 

No, that didn’t matter. That wasn’t what he was after. They trusted each other enough to take back control of the warship. That was all either of them needed. Silver had simply figured it would be as rough for Flint as it had been for him. 

Dufresne might have failed, but there was always a chance that he could have succeeded. A very small one. If the merchant ship he’d tried to take had been weaker or newer and less experienced, less knowledgeable, it could have happened. 

But could anyone be a match for Flint? 

Was there anyone else who had the balls to beat a rival to death in front of a mutinous crew? Or who could piece together all possible routes for the location of a treasure ship based on scraps of information? Who else was so furiously driven toward a single goal that they might sacrifice anything for it? Who else was all contradictions and mysteries and more myth than man even though Silver had seen that man up close and incredibly personal? Who refused to kiss someone before or during sex but would go back on that refusal because… 

Because why? Silver had been sure the crew would want them both dead and so Flint took pity on him? Was it an attempt to distract Silver? Or comfort him? Why would Flint care about doing either? How could a man who was so feared across all the seven seas, a man who was known to be merciless and cruel, unforgiving, and more monstrous than anything else be the same man Silver had shared a bed with? 

Where was the truth and where was the facade? Why was Flint so captivating regardless? There was no one more dangerous. Silver doubted there was anyone more manipulative or clever either. He should be running in the opposite direction no matter what the final prize might be. 

But there was something about seeing Flint in command again. How he so effortlessly and sternly gave orders. How he could take control and make people follow him even when they hated and likely didn’t trust him at all. 

It made the breath leave Silver’s body. It made his pulse hard and solid and quicker than it should have been. It made him want and need, and it made nothing else matter. 

He found Flint far below in the depths of the ship, where they’d spent the night together, and couldn’t help grinning when he told him the news. “They’re going to vote. We’re going to vote.” He grinned at his own accomplishment. He was part of the crew. He would be one of Flint’s crew. “They want to make you captain.”

No flicker of emotion showed on Flint’s face, but his gaze trailed over Silver. “And you believe you know the outcome?”

Silver grinned and arched his back in a coy pose. “How could I doubt it?”

Flint huffed and looked down, suddenly far from the thing that drove fear into men’s hearts. But when Silver reached out and brushed a hand over Flint’s chest, Flint’s hands gripped his upper arms and shoved him back against the wall. A jolt of near fear shot through Silver’s body, but it was laced with excitement and the hot rush that always came when Flint was so near to him. 

When Flint’s mouth crashed against Silver’s own, the apprehension vanished. He clung to the forceful heat of Flint’s body and let his mouth be invaded. Flint gripped him hard enough to bruise, like he had when they first met face to face and Flint had shoved him against a wall of rock.

Though the same wildfire flashed in Flint’s eyes, it was different now. Hot rather than cold. Enveloping and enticing rather than a brutal warning to keep his distance. It made Silver want to hold on and never let go. He could wrap both his arms and legs around Flint and just remain there, tangled around him. 

Flint seemed to have other ideas. He tore himself away from Silver’s lips, leaving him panting as he grabbed fistfuls of Silver’s shirt and threw him over one of the large storage barrels that held fresh water. Flint took a handful of Silver’s hair, rendering him immobile and probably helpless, but it made Silver ache for him. Flint’s breath prickled the back of Silver’s neck and his voice came out in a deep, sinful rasp. “You want me to take you like this?”

Silver’s whole body throbbed and his twisted his hips until he could press his arse back against Flint’s groin. “Fuck, yes.”

He barely had time to think. Flint’s hands were quick and demanding, and they tore Silver’s trousers open and Flint’s teeth pressed into Silver’s shoulder as his fingers slid into him, teasing him relentlessly until Silver couldn’t stand it and pleaded for Flint’s cock. As soon as he had it, buried deep inside, it was almost too much. But not having Flint would be far worse. He needed and he begged for Flint to split him in half if it meant feeling him deeper. 

Silver shoved his own hand into his mouth so his moans wouldn’t escape and gripped the barrel to stay steady. The rough wood abraded his hands and stomach, possibly leaving splinters that would need to be dug out later. Flint pounded into him exactly the way Silver had imagined he would when he first saw him in all his bloody glory. It burned and stretched him wide open but it also made bright bursts of fire ignite throughout his cock. He’d wanted and he’d dreamed of this and he finally had it and how could it be enough? How much did he really have? How could he ever go without this?

All thoughts left him when Flint’s hand wrapped around his hard cock. Silver jerked under Flint’s grasp but hoped Flint would hold him tighter as he spasmed and spilled through Flint’s rough fingers. He wanted Flint clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him afloat in a dangerous, angry sea. But Silver jerked hard and came, overwhelmed by the feel of being fucked, without Flint clutching him. 

Silver felt around until he captured both of Flint’s hands in his. He held them, keeping Flint’s arms around his body as Flint fucked him faster, deeper and there was finally a delicious hot burst inside Silver. It would leave him sticky and messy and sore, but Silver needed all of it. He didn’t let go of Flint’s hands until after Flint sagged against him. The solid weight made Silver’s body ache, but in the same way that being worked open and fucked did. It was welcome and satisfied something he couldn’t even describe. 

He felt protected. Like he wasn’t on his own. At least for a moment. How long could such a feeling last? Sex had never made him feel like this. Nothing had ever made him feel like this. 

It couldn’t be real. It wasn’t. There was nothing safe and certainly nothing that meant Silver wasn’t alone. There was only a hazy, sticky afterglow. It made everything fuzzy and there was nothing to prolong the moment. Flint pulled away and dressed before Silver could even turn to see him satiated and half naked. When Silver did catch a glimpse, Flint was tucking and straightening his clothes until he looked as unruffled as ever. “If there is going to be a vote, we should be up there.”

Silver uncurled from the barrel and managed to nod. They should because Flint was their captain. Nothing less was acceptable. He cleaned himself a little and dressed, but wanted every reminder he could have. For as long as he could have it. His body was soaked in pleasant soreness and an empty ache where Flint’s cock was no longer buried inside him. It was all he could think on when they asked for his vote. 

There were whispers of, “Why even ask? We know what his vote is.” 

Flint must have heard them, too because his gaze stayed on Silver like a warm grip even after Silver named Flint as his choice for captain. 

Was Flint thinking of taking Silver again? Did thoughts of fucking him take over Flint’s mind like it did Silver’s? Did Flint crave more the second they were finished the way that Silver did? How much of a distraction was Silver? Was it enough to sway Flint’s rigid focus for longer than the length of a good fuck? 

Logan gave Silver a knowing smirk after the final count, but Silver was lost in other thoughts. Expecting anything out of a fuck was maudlin at best, dangerous at worst. But how did Flint regard him? What kind of power did Silver have over Flint? 

Did Flint have power over Silver? He’d seen what Flint did and could do to people, and while being aware of it made it less likely that Silver would fall victim, it was dangerous to think himself immune. As soon as they had they gold, which would be soon, Silver would be far away from him and nothing about Flint would ever touch him again. Unless he wanted it to. Unless he sought it out. 

Once the ousted Dufresne left the captain’s cabin, Silver went to the door and let himself inside. It was far more luxurious in the massive man o’ war than inside the Walrus. The room was spacious, plenty big enough for more than one person; the furnishings more ornate with intricately carved wood and rich fabrics, chosen for style as much as for function. The glow of the candles bathed everything in soft shadows with tiny glimpses of what truly occupied the room. But nothing stood out the way Flint did. 

He was magnificent and steely, clothed in what had to be Spanish leather that accentuated the breadth of his muscular shoulders. In a life long before Nassau, Flint must have been a noble. His stance was always regal, so poised and elegant. He had to have been wealthy or at the very least his family was. He must’ve been heir to a grand title and a vast estate with access to anything money could buy. 

How did Flint end up here then? He must have lost everything. Which was probably worse than never knowing what it was like. Maybe that was why Flint was fighting so hard to return to it. To go from having everything imaginable, everything worth desiring to having only a questionably loyal crew steeped in animosity and a longing to return to his former life had to be enough to make a man icy and locked away like Flint was. 

Silver walked slowly, footsteps quiet but not so quiet that Flint wouldn’t know he was there. He didn’t acknowledge that there was anyone else present in his cabin however. His gaze was turned elsewhere, miles away; likely years away. Silver leaned against the captain’s desk, crossed his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles, and enjoyed the view. 

Flint’s hair was more fiery gold in the candlelight. It appeared sleek and soft. Even his thick, rough beard seemed inviting. The lines on his face, the sharp angles were less prominent, but Silver longed to trace them with his fingers. He wanted Flint’s weight on him, he wanted that heat wrapped around him, the smell of Flint’s body filling his lungs, the taste of Flint’s mouth on Silver’s tongue. 

When Flint finally looked to him, eyes an impossible shade of pale green, Silver’s pulse jumped. “Was there something you wanted?” His tone was softened as if the dim candlelight worked on Flint as well. 

Silver swallowed down the dryness in his mouth. “Well, I was going to offer congratulations. Captain.” He grinned but glanced at Flint’s new attire and was overtaken. “But good fucking god.”

Flint’s eyebrow arched, stern and unyielding as ever. “What?”

Silver bit his lower lip and let his gaze deliberately travel over Flint’s body. “I like that coat.”

An almost-smile flickered in Flint’s eyes. “It’s mine,” he said but stepped forward. Silver uncrossed his ankles and perched on the edge of the desk. Flint moved until he stood between Silver’s thighs, almost but not quite touching him. “You can’t have it.”

“I don’t want to have it,” Silver’s voice came out low and thick, sounding breathy and needy. He wanted so badly. Too badly. “I want to have you.”

Flint studied him but didn’t move away. “You think you can have me whenever the mood strikes you?”

Silver ran a hand from Flint’s neck down to the center of his chest, hoping to draw him closer. Would he be able to feel Flint’s heart? Would it jump at Silver’s touch? Could he make Flint want him just as badly? He twisted his thumb and two fingers in the fabric of Flint’s shirt and held on. “Tell me I can’t have you.”

“You can’t.” Flint remained firm, closed under lock and key, but something simmered under the surface. He always seemed so devoted to keeping himself hidden away, but there was something so lost and forlorn about him now. There was something he wasn’t saying. Something that Flint wanted to say. Did he want to explain why? Did he want to confess something? Did he trust Silver? What wasn’t Flint saying? 

There were so many questions and Flint clearly wasn’t giving any of them the light of day, but his hands slid to Silver’s back and he leaned in. His lips pressed to Silver’s, more like the first time he’d done it than any time following. It was slower, warmer, but it took over everything even quicker than the forceful, demanding kisses had. Maybe Flint wanted Silver to have him whenever, wherever, but was afraid to give in. It was terrifying if Silver thought about it, which was why he preferred not to. What did it matter? Like Flint said, it was probably inevitable. 

But it felt so elusive. It felt insufficient and more like a gaping need that had never been satisfied. Silver had to hold on. There was nothing else stable for him to hold on to. There was nothing else he wanted to hold on to.

He gripped Flint’s back and shifted all of his weight onto the desk so he could wrap his legs around Flint’s hips. It pulled Flint forward and a rush of heat flooded Silver. He was growing hard before but feeling Flint’s body so easily bowed against his own completely tipped the scales. The way they fit together was familiar now and it still made Silver’s pulse rapidly increase. He knew how it felt to have Flint. He knew how good it was. It should temper the longing because why should he need something he’d already had? But knowing only made him want it more. 

He gripped the soft leather of Flint’s new coat as his head swam. Flint’s kisses grew harder, stealing Silver’s breath before his mouth moved down Silver’s throat. Silver’s eyes fluttered and he arched up, wanting as much as Flint would give him. As if he’d never had Flint inside him hours before. 

He squeezed with his legs and brought Flint tighter to him, imagining how it felt to be filled, how it felt to possess his captain. He held Flint’s face between both hands and kissed him hard. “You should fuck me,” he whispered, wet lips brushing Flint’s as he slipped his hands beneath Flint’s coat and dragged his fingernails down Flint’s back.

Flint’s hand tangled in Silver’s hair and clenched a fistful of it. “You think it would be enough if I did?” He tugged and tilted Silver’s mouth toward his own.“You never seem satiated.”

Silver made fists in Flint’s shirt, keeping him close. “Maybe you should fuck me and not stop.” Never stop. He wanted Flint always like this. It was far too good to ever give up. Fucking someone had never felt so good. 

Flint’s hands went to the fastenings on Silver’s trousers and left him naked from the waist down. He pushed Silver’s shirt up and over his head but left it twisted around Silver’s wrists so he could hold onto it and keep Silver’s hands pinned down. Then Flint leaned down over him fully clothed, and kissed Silver like he was claiming a reward. And god, it was some fucking reward. How had they gone so long without kissing? 

Silver moaned into Flint’s mouth and rocked his hips up, rubbing his cock against Flint’s stomach. It earned him a sharp suck to his lower lip and Flint holding him down harder. Silver wanted to push back even more. How much could he tease? How much could he get Flint to do to him? 

He flicked his tongue over Flint’s mouth and locked his bare legs around Flint’s hips so Flint would be restrained just like he was. Would Flint struggle against it? Or would he let himself be trapped in Silver’s embrace? 

Flint didn’t try to tear himself away. He pushed back, grinding down and thrusting against Silver like he was going to fuck him without removing or opening a single piece of clothing. Silver grinned and pressed his teeth into Flint’s lip when they kissed. It left them a darker, deeper shade and likely more sensitive. What would it take to make Flint come undone? 

Flint’s hand wrapped around his cock, warm and tight and he gripped Silver perfectly, but held instead of stroked. Silver squirmed and tossed his shirt away. He needed more. His skin was already tingling all over. He was still tender and stretched from earlier, but it wasn’t enough. 

Flint took his time nipping and licking his way down Silver’s body. His nipples were laved and pressed between teeth just like the lines of muscle defining his stomach. Flint’s hand started to move and slide over Silver’s cock but without speed or grip. More like Flint simply wanted to feel a cock in his hand that wasn’t his own. He left wet drags of his lips over Silver’s hips and thighs; his beard rubbed delicate skin raw and his hot breath teased it and made Silver’s cock leak drops of fluid over Flint’s knuckles. But it wasn’t until after Flint had held Silver’s thighs apart and licked him until he could slide two fingers inside that he took Silver’s cock into his mouth. 

Flint gave him a few long, slow sucks that sent fire through Silver’s body, but he didn’t mean to make Silver come. He wouldn’t be letting Silver come just yet. Not with the way he held Silver down and touched him almost but not quite the way he wanted. 

Silver gripped his own hair and bit hard on his own hand so he wouldn’t scream or cry from frustration. His whole body was spinning and swimming and sparking. Sweat covered his skin and he was lost in how good all of it felt, but he was already sore and sensitive and aching. “Please,” he panted and jerked in Flint’s grip and tried to angle himself for more, but the fingers moved to stretch him instead of fuck him. Silver whined around his own fist, trying to muffle the sound, but quickly losing all coherency. “Captain, please. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

Flint let go, withdrawing his fingers and pulling away, and stood between Silver’s legs. Silver sobbed a pitiful, needy sound. Flint wouldn’t leave him here like this? Would he? Didn’t he want this? What if he didn’t? What if Silver was just hopelessly falling with nothing to bring him back? 

Flint slid a hand up Silver’s left leg and bent to kiss his knee before he held that leg over his arm. He undid his belt and trousers with one hand and pushed them down enough that his own cock sprung free. It was hard and flushed and Silver wanted it in his mouth, in his arse, just somehow inside him before he lost it. Flint spit in his hand and stroked himself but his eyes were dark and stayed on Silver. 

Did he like seeing evidence of how he’d teased Silver? All the red marks on his skin? The way he was painfully hard and dripping for Flint? The way Silver was spread out for him, begging to be taken? What was it that Flint wanted? He’d always tried to keep himself at a distance, but why? Because something had hurt him? Because some ingrained religious bullshit said it was wrong? What made him indulge in fucking Silver even after he declared that Silver couldn’t have him? How could Silver find out what was buried beneath all of Flint’s armor? 

Flint held his own cock, pressing it against Silver’s body, and there couldn’t be any more thoughts let alone questions or answers. “Captain. Fuck. Yes,” Silver breathed heavily and clenched Flint between his thighs. “Fuck me now. I need it.” He turned his own dark eyes on Flint and gripped his muscular arms. “I need you.” 

Flint gripped Silver’s hair and pushed forward, sliding deep inside him with one movement and crushing him to the desk with his weight. Silver threw his head back and moaned rapturously before he remembered to shove his own hand in his mouth and bite down to keep from making noise. He amended it as soon as he realized, sure he wouldn’t be able to survive Flint stopping now and leaving him unfinished and wanting. His hand, among other things, was going to hurt tomorrow from all his bites, but that kind of pain he could tolerate. It was more than worth it. 

Flint leaned over him, bending him in half but also slowly sliding in and out of him. Silver moaned and whimpered through the mouthful of his own hand and tried to move against Flint so he could have more of him. 

Flint stilled and moved Silver’s fist from his mouth. Maybe it was so Flint could kiss him. Like how Silver had wanted Flint to quiet him the first time they were together. Silver let his hand be moved, but didn't receive the kiss he’d expected. Flint’s voice was deep and raspy, and something feral and barely restrained burned in his eyes. “Let them hear you. I don’t care.”

Silver quivered with lust and grinned. “You want them to know who is rightfully captain of this ship?” It was their victory. Dufresne already fussed like a child when Silver refused to call him captain. What would he think of hearing Silver scream the title for Flint?

Flint slid out of him almost all the way before pushing back inside. It burned and felt deeper than he’d ever taken Flint and made the muscles in Silver’s thighs tighten and tremble. “No,” Flint said softly. He held tighter to the leg in his arm and the long curls in his fist. It was possessive and dizzying and every fiber of Silver’s body was stretched and wrapped around Flint and aching for him. “I want to hear you.” 

Silver sobbed and clutched Flint’s back beneath his leather coat, straining against him. “I’ll let you hear me. I’ll beg for you. I’ll scream for you. I need you so badly. Fuck me, please. Don’t stop fucking me.”

Flint gripped the edge of the desk above Silver’s head and used it to drive into him, slowly at first but not for long. He didn’t hold back, so neither did Silver. He moaned and gasped and mewled at every thrust Flint made into him. It was shallow but hard and brushed back and forth against that perfect spot inside him that made him want to be split open and taken until he couldn’t move or speak. 

Silver’s words were barely sensical and only made it to, “Fuck. Captain. Yes, fuck. Please.” The wood scratched and dug into his back, but it was so good, so perfect, but he just needed a little more. 

He reached down to grasp his own cock but before he’d even begun to stroke himself, Flint grasped both his wrists and pinned them down near his hips. 

“Not yet.”

Silver intended to growl angrily but it came out as more of a whine. “Fuck you.”

Half of a wicked smile curved Flint’s lips and he thrust harder, driving deeper inside Silver, making sparks jolt through him with every stab of Flint’s cock. 

Silver arched and lifted up to counter Flint’s movements but he still needed and Flint wouldn’t let go of his hands. He used them for leverage and kept tugging Silver to him, and Silver was so close but not quite there and he wouldn’t make it there because he couldn’t pull his hands free. Flint brought him to the edge, kept him at the edge, but wouldn’t let him cross over it. Silver couldn’t touch and Flint wouldn’t touch and the muscles in his thighs, in his back, stomach and chest drew tighter and tighter until he was trembling and damn near sobbing from how he needed. 

And Flint didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He pounded into Silver harder, striking exactly where it made him spasm and strain desperately for more. 

Silver tossed his head back and it thudded against the table. “Jesus fucking Christ. Please. God. Please.”

Flint actually smirked. “Quite the promotion from captain.” 

Silver lifted his head to glare. “Fuck you, Flint.”

Flint slowed and stopped, and Silver was sure that was it for him. If this was his death, so be it. There were worse ones. He let out a choked groan and tried to thrust against Flint to get him to finish. He did wonder how much sway he had over Flint and if, maybe, the captain was developing a soft spot for him. He gave Flint a helpless, pitiful look, and begged. “Please. I want to come. I need to. I can’t take it. I need. Please. I need you, please.”

Flint let go of his wrists and gripped around Silver’s thigh with one hand and around his cock with the other. He pumped Silver quickly and made small, deep thrusts into him. It was all Silver wanted, needed, and everything winding him so tightly finally snapped. Waves crashed through his body and kept going longer than he could ever remember them lasting. He was quaking and spurting all over both of them, and it left him wrecked and overwhelmed and barely able to breathe. He wrapped his arms around Flint and clutched him with both legs. “Don’t stop. I want you to come. I want to feel you come.”

Flint rested his body more on Silver’s and turned his face toward Silver’s shoulder. The weight was warm and welcome and it was all so much, especially after he’d already finished. He gasped and clawed at Flint’s back, and Flint’s thrusts turned jerky and erratic before there was a victorious hot gush inside Silver. 

They both collapsed, bonelessly and breathing hard. Silver didn’t realize his hand was threaded through loose locks of red hair until a minute or two later. It was cupped behind Flint’s skull, woven through the tousled strands, and he couldn’t think of a reason to move it. Not when Flint was resting on top of him, still buried inside him. 

He was able to breathe normally quicker than Flint was. All his muscles ached and his skin was raw and stinging. He didn’t even want to think about how much his body was going to hurt. It’d probably be a week before he fully recovered. 

But he swore he could feel Flint’s heartbeat still pounding in his chest. He smelled of the expensive leather that was now draped over both of them. His hair actually felt soft between Silver’s fingers. 

When Flint recovered enough to move, he lifted his upper body off Silver and studied his face. His pale green eyes remained sharp and hardened, but full of uncertainty. What was he thinking? What was it that he wanted? Was he hoping to see someone else spread beneath him? 

It brought a twinge to the pit of Silver’s stomach. He swallowed hard but let his hand slide from Flint’s hair. He couldn’t help lightly tracing the curve of Flint’s cheekbone, feeling the ginger hair on Flint’s chin. It all felt good under his fingers. When he brushed his thumb over Flint’s lips, Flint tipped his head slightly, moving toward the touch. 

Silver’s heart skipped and he slid his other hand over the bare skin of Flint’s lower back. He stretched up just a little, enough that the tip of his nose could touch Flint’s if he wanted it to. His voice was a whisper, a hopeful request. “Give me my sin again.”

Flint scrutinized him but it wasn’t a harsh look. He swallowed and wet his lips with his tongue before his eyes slipped closed and he leaned down to grant Silver’s request. 

The kiss was slow and soft, unhurried and warm in a way that made Silver’s insides flutter. He returned the kisses, keeping the gentleness that Flint gave him, and held on as long as he could. 

Why did it make him feel even more ripped open and vulnerable than when Flint was stretching him open and spearing him apart? Why did it feel like he needed this more than anything? 

Flint broke the kiss before long but he rested his forehead against Silver’s for a second, cradling his head, keeping the warmth trapped between them with the leather coat draped over them before he pulled away completely and started adjusting his clothing. “I’d offer to let you sleep in my cabin for the night, if you wanted to, but it’d be best not to drive a wedge between you and the crew.”

Silver sighed but nodded and gathered his own clothes. It would be best. For more than one reason. The crew was lowest on his list of concerns. Though he did make sure to avoid Logan as much as he could for the next few days.


	11. Intangible Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint and Silver return to Nassau and face new challenges to their relationship.
> 
> Set during 203

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I heard the fandom was craving bottom!Flint. Here, fandom. Have bottom!Flint.

Nassau was a matter of hours away. By the time they reached it, the sun would be more than the hint of color on the horizon that it was now, but the diffuse, slow sunrise was enough to leave every inch of smooth, tanned skin a vivid image in Flint’s mind.

He shouldn’t stare. He shouldn’t look at him any longer than was absolutely necessary. He’d sent for him to discuss their plan once they sailed close enough to the bay. Not for this.

Silver pushed and Flint’s back hit the cushion of the window seat. His hands went to Flint’s chest, holding him down and gripping Flint hard as he shoved himself back and moaned like he was lost in pleasure. Flint’s blood pounded in his head, in his chest, in his cock. He was flushed and lightheaded, marveling at how it felt. 

Silver’s body was gorgeous. All lean, hard muscle and perfect skin, glossy with sweat from heat and exertion. His dark hair clung to his neck and bounced as he moved, and Flint knew it was soft to touch. He knew if he gripped Silver’s thighs and dug his fingers into them that it would spur him on. He knew how to tilt his hips and give Silver an angle that would make him tighten and quake and move harder against Flint. He knew Silver watched him and took in everything, even as Flint shut his eyes to it and tried to keep himself from remembering any of it. 

It was a distraction. A salve. It wasn’t an answer. It would never be permanent or lasting. But it was more than he’d had in so long. A small moment where he wasn’t so lost and alone. Nothing had ever helped silence those memories that raged and screamed at him every second of the day, but they did grow quieter when he had Silver like this. Because Flint couldn’t think of anything when Silver leaned over him, held tightly to him, and purred, “Captain.” It sounded far closer to prayer than the sin it was. 

Flint clutched the thighs that squeezed either side of his hips and bent his knees so that he could thrust up hard into Silver. He needed more. He needed to hear him. He needed so badly. It wasn’t like Miranda. It wasn’t like anyone he’d had when he was younger, before he’d met the Hamiltons. It wasn’t even like Thomas, though it stayed with him in the same way. It made him want and crave and finally feel sated when he had it. 

A breathless moan escaped Silver and he panted, “Fuck, I love your cock. It’s so thick and perfect. I love feeling you so deep.”

The fevered words settled in the base of Flint’s spine. When was the last time someone had wanted him so much? Heat burned through him and took hold. Until there was nothing holding him together but Silver’s tight grasp. 

Silver closed his fist around his own cock and jerked quickly until Flint’s chest and stomach were covered in sticky fluid, but Flint was already gone, drowning in how inexplicably good it was. It was several long moments before he even wanted to untangle himself. 

Silver left a lazy, wet kiss on his collarbone and then grazed his teeth over Flint’s jaw. “When do I get to fuck you?”

Flint shivered and ached but would never tell Silver that. “You begged me to fuck you. You usually beg me to fuck you.”

Silver stilled and seemed to contemplate this. “Are you telling me that if I had begged to fuck you, that you would have let me?”

“You fucked me before. Or have you already forgotten.”

A hazy smile curved Silver’s mouth and he licked his own seed from Flint’s chest. “Never. It was unforgettable.” He curled his hands around Flint’s upper arms and continued to trail his lips and tongue over Flint’s skin, leaving wet tingles behind. 

Flint huffed but had the urge to return that smile. “You haven’t had enough sex today?”

Silver’s fingers slid through Flint’s hair and held on. “I remember what it felt like to have you. How you quivered when I fucked you with my fingers, how tight you felt around my cock.” The pendant he wore tickled Flint’s chest. His breath was heavy and smelled of spices. He tasted like spices, like things warm, dark, and vibrant. He was almost too much sensation. “How could I ever have enough?”

Flint swallowed hard, entranced by the words and Silver’s rich, lilting voice. He shouldn’t be so affected. He should scoff and tell him to leave. They’d already fucked. He didn’t need to do this again. He was used to going years at a time without sex. Mere minutes in between was nothing. No matter how it felt.

Silver brushed his lips against Flint’s, letting him feel hot, damp breath before kissing him in a way that felt possessive. It made Flint want to hold on. 

He couldn’t hold on. There was nothing to hold onto. Silver wouldn’t stay. He wasn’t to be trusted. Silver could never give him what he really needed.

A fuck was cheap and easy to come by. If that was what Flint wanted, he could have it anywhere. Though it never felt like this with anyone else and he wasn't keen on letting anyone that close to him. But Silver was alive and joyous, and he wanted Flint like no one had in ten years. Maybe if Flint prayed hard enough, that vivacious spirit would be infectious. Maybe he could find something that felt like happiness. 

It would never happen. Not now and certainly not with this man. Silver made him remember, but only because Flint missed and needed someone else. He pushed them both into a sitting position and held onto Silver’s arms to keep him at a distance. “There’s no more time. We need to be preparing.”

“We have close to an hour before the sun is up and the watch changes.” Silver’s hands stroked down Flint’s chest and stomach, causing light, fluttery little sparks that made Flint want the whole raging fire. “And several more hours before we’re near Nassau. There’s plenty of time.” Silver moved to kiss him, another intoxicating distraction, but if Flint let him, he might give in and never want to stop. 

He caught Silver’s face and held him by the chin and cheek. “Unless you’ve changed your mind and don’t care about returning for the gold, we have a lot to take care of and only a short amount of time in which to do it.”

The light in Silver’s eyes faded, but he moved from his position on Flint’s lap and nodded. “Of course. The gold is of the utmost important. In which case, do you have orders for me, Captain?”

Flint looked away from him before he regretted his decision. He bent down and retrieved his clothes. “Find me men, at least two but no more than three, willing to return to the bay and keep watch on the Spanish soldiers.” He cleaned himself and dressed quickly so there would be no trace of Silver left on him. “You may offer reasonable compensation in return. And by reasonable I mean nothing that would foster animosity or jealousy.”

“Nothing that cuts into my generous share. Understood.” Silver had dressed halfway and Flint caught another glimpse of his beautiful, bare chest before Silver pulled his shirt over his head and began tucking it into his trousers. 

“I’ll need you to accompany me and secure provisions for the crew while I speak with Captain Hornigold. This trip must be as brief as possible, I’m sure you understand why. I don’t plan on allowing anyone else ashore.”

“Naturally,” Silver fastened his belt and gave Flint a winsome smile. “Can’t have anyone divulging sensitive locations. Was that all, Captain?”

Flint stopped and looked at Silver.

“Don’t worry,” he said before Flint had the chance to respond. “I’m not under any illusions. We fuck. It’s a fantastic reprieve from all the bullshit I imagine both of us have undergone. It means nothing. My priority is the same as it’s always been. I want that gold.”

The words sounded like truth, but they made the hollowness ring in Flint’s chest. He wasn’t expecting more from Silver. Whatever was happening between them could never be meaningful. They used each other for sex. There was nothing else he could offer even if he wanted to. “So long as we’re clear.”

Silver nodded once and went to leave. Flint stepped in front of him and slid his hand to the small of Silver’s back. 

The warmth that surrounded him was deep and potent, and Silver leaned into him like he wasn’t even aware he was doing so. Flint murmured near Silver’s temple, his voice rough like rocky stones. “We’ll continue once we return. We’ll have plenty of time on our second journey.”

Silver looked up at him, eyes searching for something that he couldn’t seem to find.

Flint slid a hand around Silver’s face and tilted it up until he could kiss him the way he’d wanted to earlier, with all the longing and possessiveness that Silver had given him. Silver turned soft and pliant in his arms but held on tightly, and all Flint wanted to do was tear off their clothes and let Silver have him however he wanted. He breathed against Silver’s mouth, “We’re not nearly finished.” 

Silver smiled brighter than the sun, and Flint had to kiss him one more time before Silver left him to the looming silence of the large cabin. 

It made Miranda’s words vivid in his mind. 

_There is no love here._

There wasn’t, and he had yet to figure out how change that. He wasn’t capable of love anymore. Not even toward her and she meant more to him than anyone living. Death was irreversible and his heart died too long ago.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Miranda was ashen. Her face haunted, her eyes red. She looked at him but her gaze was distant and unfocused. “I received word. From home.”

The words were spoken so gently. Delicate, careful words that couldn’t possibly wreak destruction of any magnitude. But they sliced through him like bullets, ripped apart his insides, and plunged James’ whole world into darkness. 

“My brother-in-law wished to inform me… of my husband’s death.”

“His death?” James said the words before he could stop himself. They were poison on his tongue. 

Miranda bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes, but she breathed deeply and still spoke with the same delicate, serene tone. “Yes.”

James shook his head. The poison was spreading, seeping into his veins, killing his heart. 

She expected him to turn violent and destructive, toward himself if nothing else. He saw it in her eyes. It wasn’t fear for herself, she knew that he would never intentionally hurt her, but her eyes held something knowing and sorrowful, soaked with empathy and pity.

In all honesty, the anger was what he expected as well. It was prevalent in everything else, why wouldn’t it be in this? But it wasn’t rage that hit him first. 

He sank to the floor and couldn’t move. Couldn’t cry, could’t breathe, couldn’t think. The floor of her cottage was cold. He looked at whatever was in front of him, but saw nothing. Blurs of grey. Light fading. His bones were stiff and sore. She spoke to him, but he heard no words. She touched his arm, his chest, his cheek, his forehead, but he couldn’t feel any of it. 

He’d known this the moment they left. He’d known that it would end this way. He knew he’d never see him or talk to him or hug him or kiss him or be held by him or loved by him again. It was already lost. Had he held hope for another outcome in spite of all that he knew? 

Or was it simply the feeling of his heart and soul being ripped away that overwhelmed him? He was dead. He had given up everything. He thought he was forgotten, that he’d never be fought for or defended again. He was dead. 

She made him stand and walk and then lie down in his bed. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t stay there. As soon as he remembered how to move on his own, he went out into the night and didn’t return for nearly six months. He couldn’t. He had to keep moving. He had to fight harder than ever. He had to make the world hurt as much as he did. He had to make pain to his body worse than the pain in his chest. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to think about it. Maybe he would stop feeling like he was being torn apart. 

But the battles were too much, and Gates made him stop when he was soaked in blood and too broken to move. The new ship doctor sewed up gashes in his arms and legs, bandaged him, and they took him off his ship in the middle of the night and brought him to her. 

She cried when she saw him, and he felt terrible for leaving her alone. He was all she had now, and she was all he had. “I’m sorry,” he took her hand, held it gently, and remembered doing so in a carriage all those years ago. They rarely slept in the same bed. She preferred her space and such intimacy was unsettling to him, as if it exemplified everything that was wrong with him, everything he should want, everything he was supposed to be content with but that always felt lacking, but he urged her to lie beside him now and held her while she slept. 

She used to smell the same way Thomas did. The scent of ink and paper, garden herbs, and freshly washed clothes. But that had long since faded. There were too many miles, too many years, and now death separated them. Miranda didn’t smell like death, but Flint did. He was nothing but blood, torn flesh, and emptiness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time he’d finished speaking, the men were cheering, ready to take down the fort and remove Vane from it. But when Flint looked to catch Silver’s gaze, he found the quarterdeck vacant. Quick glances between all the crewmen gathered and still Silver was not among them. The disappearance shouldn’t be concerning but having Silver on his side was useful. Should he send someone to find him? Request his presence because he needed consultation? Or should he put it out of his mind?

He gave orders to the men to ready the canons and bring the ship to the location Hornigold deemed the weakness in the fort, and when everyone had busied themselves with a job, Flint retired to his cabin. 

No candles had been lit and it even with the moonlight outside, it left the space in darkness with the silhouette of a man standing near the windows, near the seat where they’d spent the morning. His back was to Flint but he didn’t startle at the sound of closed doors. He was waiting. 

Shivers coursed over Flint’s skin as he recalled the promises he’d made to continue what they’d started. He went to Silver and started to reach out for him, but changed his mind at the last minute. 

Silver didn’t look at him. His gaze was somewhere distant as if his mind was set on that five million dollars waiting for him on a beach. “You know this wastes time that we don’t have, don’t you.”

Flint steeled himself. If Silver turned against him, if he had no one on his crew working with him, then he doubted success was even conceivable. “You think you have to remind me of that? The last thing I want is to be forced to wait here because fucking Charles Vane decided Nassau belongs to him.” His words were wildly angry without him even trying. “You don’t understand.”

That earned him Silver’s attention. There was hurt in his eyes. 

“I have been working toward this, fighting for this for more than ten years. Do you honestly believe that I would stop now? When we are so close to finally achieving it?”

Silver shook his head and looked down. “No, I don’t.”

Flint cupped Silver’s face and brought his gaze back. He was warm and Flint’s thumb easily caressed the curve of Silver’s cheek, and for the first time, Flint wondered if he’d be burned.

Had they become too intimate? Too familiar with each other already? Even the suggestion of such a personal connection was a warrant for their deaths. He let go of Silver, stepped away, and turned his back to the window. 

“Evidently, _you_ had enough sex today.”

Flint stopped. Those were his own words twisted and thrown back at him, and there was far too much bitterness for Silver to mean only their tryst that morning. He was jealous. “Why? Were you hoping for more?”

Silver’s footsteps were purposeful and Flint turned to face him. His eyes were dark and his face cast in shadows. His stance was rigid and even though Flint knew Silver was smaller and slighter, he never would have guessed it now. Silver was usually so malleable and harmless, at least, he appeared as such. Flint would’t be fooled. 

Silver met his eyes with a sharp stare. “I believe you promised that we were not nearly finished.” 

Flint wet his lips with his tongue and forced himself not to shiver. Most people made him want to rebel when they tried to posture and intimidate him. Silver was intriguing like this. “What is it you want?” 

Silver gripped the back of Flint’s neck and pulled him in close enough that Flint could taste the citrus and jerky on Silver’s breath. “Show me where I can fuck you.”

The hot shiver coursed over him no matter how he tried to hold it back. Just the thought of Silver like this and taking him had already made him hard. He curled his hand around Silver’s wrist and pulled lightly until Silver’s hand moved from his neck. His hand slipped briefly into Silver’s palm before he decided that should not happen. He let go entirely, picked up a lit candle and beckoned Silver to follow him. 

They took a ladder down to a smaller cabin with similar tall windows and red curtains. It held a desk, more diminutive in size but just as ornate as the one above, shelves and cupboards of ship logs and navigational tools, unlit candles on every surface, and a wooden pallet with a mattress. 

Silver looked around. “How the hell did you find someone exactly like you but Spanish? Or did you decide to replicate that room you have on the Walrus?” 

Flint shut and locked the door and used his candle to light the ones fixed to the desk. “As far as I can tell, this was their quartermaster’s cabin. He likely had a wife who spent time with him and they shared this room. Or he had someone on board he shared it with.” Flint blew out the candle he’d brought and set it on the table. 

Silver’s gaze was softer for a moment and then a smirk curled his mouth. “And I suppose offering it to your quartermaster slipped your mind.”

“It must have. Do you feel like telling him?”

Silver walked toward him and ran a hand down Flint’s chest. “No.” He slid his hand to where it had been behind Flint’s neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss. It made fire burn through Flint. He was drawn in, swept away with the intensity of Silver’s kisses, with the way his teeth caught Flint’s lips, the way Silver demanded entrance with his tongue, the way it broke dams inside Flint’s chest and left him flooded with longing. 

How had he gone so long without this? Without someone who truly wanted him, without someone who would kiss him like he was the only thing they needed. Even if it was only for sex and the possibility of a fortune in gold. Even if it was just for this moment. 

Only Thomas had ever kissed him as if James was all he desired in the world, and Flint was struck with how much he was lacking, how much he missed the man he loved with all his soul, how alone and isolated and empty he’d been for so long. It made his need for everything Silver seemed to want to give him even stronger. It wasn’t the same; it would never be. But what if he could keep this? 

Would Silver actually stay? Could there actually be a cure for his loneliness? The emptiness that had replaced his heart and soul? It wouldn’t mend everything but it could mend some things. He’d have to disregard such maudlin nonsense later when he was thinking clearly, but maybe even a glimmer of hope was what he needed right now. 

Silver grasped Flint’s upper arms, fingers tight in the fabric of his shirt, and moved him to the bed. He pushed and Flint surrendered, letting Silver follow him down and cover him in the heat of his body. If he could thaw, it would have to feel like this. Silver’s hands held his face and he kissed Flint like he wanted to devour him. His body fit snugly against Flint’s, and Flint had to arch up until he could feel Silver hard against him.

It ignited a firestorm in Silver. He clawed at Flint’s clothes until he’d stripped him bare, then tore off his own and dove back onto him so that nothing was between them. Flint ran his hands over Silver’s back as Silver’s mouth, hands, and teeth left marks on him. He hadn’t allowed his thoughts to linger on how Silver felt before. He didn’t want to memorize the slope of Silver’s spine, the hard strength of his limbs, the way it felt when he drew breath and Flint’s arms were around him. It was bad enough that Flint couldn’t help but remember how he smelled of citrus smoke and tasted like intoxicating, rich spices. But it was difficult for Flint to forget anything. Especially not something he so desperately needed. Silver was so warm and they were so intimately close. But it wasn’t close enough. He could savor the softness of Silver’s skin, trace the contours of his solid muscles, and it would never be enough. 

He gripped Silver and brought him into a kiss. “Were you going to fuck me?”

Silver moaned and his grip on Flint tightened to an almost painful extent. His voice was rough and thick, and more of a command than a question. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Flint let his legs fall open and pressed up so his hard cock was fit achingly perfect next to Silver’s. “You tell me.”

Silver gripped Flint’s hair, his whole ponytail from the way it felt, and tugged his head back. He pressed his teeth against Flint’s neck and it made his heart stutter out of rhythm. “Say it. Beg me.”

Flint clutched Silver’s back, digging his fingers in. His answer surprised even him. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Silver moved lower and pressed one of Flint’s nipples between his teeth. 

The sharp sting elicited a gasp and Flint rocked up against him as if he was powerless to stop it. “Christ,” he shivered and sounded breathy and needy, but maybe that would win him what he wanted. “I need you to fuck me. Don’t you feel what you’ve done to me? How fucking hard I am for you.”

Silver held his face and kissed him with bruising force, and Flint wasn’t sure if those pleas had been enough or if Silver wanted to drive him mad before ever doing anything to him. The kisses moved to Flint’s neck but they were gentler, open-mouthed, and wet, and too fleeting. Silver pulled away and looked around. “Please tell me you know where some oil is.”

Flint gave him a half smile. “The cupboard on the far wall.”

Silver hurried to it and found the wooden box containing little bottles of different colored glass. He carried the whole container over and pawed through its contents. “I’m guessing your theory that the former quartermaster had a lover amongst his crew is correct.” 

“Why else would someone keep a bed and a room like this aboard a ship?”

Silver picked up a bottle, opened it, and sniffed. His nose wrinkled and selected a different bottle and sniffed it. “Is that why you had one?”

Instinct told him that he should say yes, as he always did, and make it clear that he did have a woman and that his room was for the two of them. But if Silver were going to ridicule or turn against him for sharing a bed with a man, he would be dragged down just like Flint would. “I shared that cabin with Gates and he preferred privacy and darkness when he slept. Generally, I can’t…” Why was he speaking? What good would it do to say anything? Why would Silver care to know about him? Unless he somehow wanted to use it to his advantage. How could he use something like Flint’s sleeping habits to his advantage?

Silver looked up from the box. “Generally, you can’t what?”

He was far too good at this. Playing innocent and charming and sympathetic so that people opened up to him. And he must have sensed that Flint was closing and shutting himself away because he rested a hand on Flint’s stomach and rubbed his thumb back and forth. What did it matter anyway? “Sleep easily. I wake and read until I fall back asleep or until I’m needed somewhere.” At least there was no way for Silver to know about the dreams that plagued him. Or the reasons for their existence. 

Silver chose a bottle and set the box on the floor. He moved Flint’s legs until they were wrapped around his hips, poured oil over his hand, and then leaned over Flint. “Let’s see if I can remedy that.” He sealed his mouth over Flint’s at the same time as he loosely stroked Flint’s cock, just enough to hint at what he could give should he so choose. 

The tiny bit of contact was enough to make Flint lift up into Silver’s touch without even thinking about it. Silver grinned against his mouth and gripped the shorter hair at the base of Flint’s skull. His other hand slid further, squeezed Flint’s balls, and pressed just below them until it was almost like being fucked. Flint pushed back against Silver’s hand and tried to get those fingers where he wanted them. When Silver didn’t oblige, Flint dug his fingers into Silver’s lower back. “You’re a fucking tease.”

Silver ran his tongue over the seam of Flint’s mouth. “Yes, I am, and you’re going to endure it until I decide to make you come.”

Flint’s pulse beat harder and he tried to breathe deeply. No one dared to give him orders anymore. He was always in control. He had to be. He couldn’t trust anyone. But he missed when he had someone who he could give himself over to completely. If it was just with this, just sex, maybe he could allow it. Flint gave him a small nod. 

Silver seemed so pleased with this reaction, he slipped one finger inside and stroked Flint’s hair. “Good. That’s very good.”

Flint exhaled hard against Silver’s mouth and squirmed around the one finger. It slid in and out of him and pressed in circles to stretch him, but never against the spot where he really wanted. Even after Silver added a second finger. 

Silver fucked him slowly, withdrawing his fingers and pressing them in as deep as he could get them. “Are you imaging my cock? Do you remember how it feels to have me buried inside you?”

A rough moan escaped Flint. “Silver.”

Silver thrummed like he was immensely pleased hearing his own name. “Captain. Are you imagining it?”

The question was absurd. He couldn’t think of anything else. The one night they’d spent together was supposed to be the only night. It was the first time he’d enjoyed sex in over a decade. The few times when he and Miranda desperately reached for comfort and solace always left one or both of them in tears. He couldn’t be what she needed and she wasn’t the man he loved. Silver wasn’t either, but having him was so much closer. 

Somehow Silver could make him hard and needy with a filthy insinuation and the briefest touch. He could look at Silver and long to touch him and be touched by him. When he allowed Silver close to him like this, he couldn’t help thinking of how it felt to be taken and claimed and fucked so hard he couldn’t think anymore. He did remember how it felt, how deep Silver could be inside him, how giddy he seemed to be given the privilege. 

Flint bent his legs and wrapped them around Silver, one around his back, one around his leg, holding Silver where he was. Silver could so easily be inside him, on top of him, fucking him hard and deep until the only thing he had to feel was relief and warmth, pleasant burns and bruises and stinging grips from Silver’s fingers. He could lose himself in sensation. For a moment, he could forget everything. “Please.” 

Silver lightly glanced his fingers over where Flint needed it. “Are you imagining it?”

Flint’s whole body tensed. “Yes.”

Silver nuzzled Flint’s neck and let his fingers curve and slide across the exact right spot inside him. “Tell me. What is it you’re picturing? What is it you need most?”

“Jesus fuck.” Flint squirmed and panted raggedly. It was almost what he needed. Almost. But not. “I need you to fuck me. I want you deep and hard until it hurts and there’s nothing else.”

Silver pressed and kept his fingers on that spot as he tightened the hold he had on Flint’s hair and tugged. “You like when it hurts?”

His breath came out choked, stuck in his chest where everything was twisted inside him and he was quivering. “I like when there’s nothing.”

Silver stilled for a moment and it was such a shock to his system that Flint whimpered and clutched him. Something that might be concern, might be curiosity, might be a mix of the two echoed in Silver’s voice. “Nothing?” 

Flint drew in labored breaths. “When the pain stops. When everything stops and there’s just… you. When there’s only you and your warmth.”

Silver’s touch turned gentle. His hand stroked Flint’s forehead and through his hair and he moved closer until he was kissing Flint. It was just as gentle but there was weight behind it that made Flint’s head swim. Silver’s hair fell around his face, covering him in the scent of Nassau sun clinging to Silver. He held Silver close and cupped his cheek, happily drowning in the sudden affection. 

Silver’s fingers moved suddenly, pressing deep and stretching him wide and there had to be at least three now. Flint’s whole body jerked and his cock throbbed and Silver just smiled and told him between kisses, “I’m going to make you come like this. From just this.”

All Flint could do was struggle for breath. His body shook and he needed like he’d never needed anything before now. 

Silver didn’t tease anymore. His touch was purposeful and he fucked Flint with his fingers, pressing hard and fast, rubbing exactly where Flint needed, and it was almost more than he could take. Being touched like this, having someone inside him, bringing him closer to that edge where he was strung out and everything was centered on that person fucking him and making him feel taken and powerless… it was too much and Flint was breaking, sinking, lost in how expertly Silver played his body. 

Silver held him closer and breathed sweet words against his lips. “That’s good, you’re so good. You’re so gorgeous when you're being fucked. I want you to let go. I have you. Let me have you. Let me give you everything you need, let me make you come. I love watching you come.”

Flint was battered and ripped apart and only managed choked, harsh whimpers. It was so long. Nothing felt like this. No one save Miranda held his trust anymore, but something pathetically hopeful made him want to extend that to include Silver. “Please,” he whispered, clutching Silver like he was the only thing keeping him afloat. 

Silver gripped him just as tightly. “I have you. There’s nothing else. Just me. Come for me.” He pressed his lips to Flint’s and fucked him so hard that he finally shattered. 

Pieces of him fell everywhere as he spurted all over himself and Silver. Every single fiber in his body ached. He was raw and ragged, but it was nothing compared to the waves of rapturous warmth that flowed through him. He jerked involuntarily, helpless against waves of emotion. His hands and limbs were rigid from how hard he’d gripped Silver and he had to work to remember how to let go. Even after he’d managed that, he was tense and sore and still panting shallow severe breaths. 

A thumb stroked across his forehead and fingers threaded through his hair. Something tender and reminiscent of having love, and Flint let out a hopeless whimper. 

“It’s all right, Flint,” Silver whispered softly before he changed his mind. “James. I’m sorry, you’re James right now. It’s all right.” He kissed Flint’s temple and then stayed with his forehead touching the side of Flint’s as he continued his gentle caresses.

Breathing became easier, deeper and Flint turned boneless and melted and couldn’t even argue about the use of his given name. It was too familiar and too kind, and knots of fear and guilt twisted in the pit of his stomach. What was he doing? How could he stop? What would happen when Silver left? 

It wasn’t enough. He needed to stop thinking. And feeling. He needed everything to stop. He held onto Silver’s arm and squeezed. “I need you to fuck me.”

Silver lifted up to look at him. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Flint rolled over onto his stomach. He spread his legs a little in invitation and looked at Silver. “Please.”

Silver slid over until he was top of Flint, pressing up behind him. His hands roamed the expanse of Flint’s back and he left a kiss between Flint’s shoulder blades. He wriggled until his cock had slipped between Flint’s cheeks and rubbed against his stretched entrance. “Is this what you need?”

Flint gripped the blankets under his hands. “Yes.”

Silver pulled away for a moment and Flint nearly whined, but then Silver was pressing inside him, freshly slicked with oil, and Flint shuddered from how sensitive and aching he was. At least the pain was grounding. He pushed back and winced but then he had Silver deep, all the way inside, and that was far more important. 

Silver gripped Flint’s arms and brought them behind his back, using them to control as he pulled out and then slid deep again. “You need this?”

Flint groaned and nodded. 

“Tell me.” It wasn’t a request and Silver wasn’t finished. “Tell me you want me.” He slid hard into Flint, rolling his hips and squeezing his trapped arms. “I want to hear how you need this.”

The muscles in his stomach tightened and made him shake, and he moved with Silver’s fluid thrusts. “I…” Flint sucked in air, panting heavily as fire coiled inside him. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who needed. Maybe the image in Silver’s mind was of Flint off fucking someone else. Flint flipped his hands, took hold of Silver’s wrists, and tugged him down. He looked back over his shoulder, lips near Silver’s ear. “I want you. Just you,” he whispered and watched Silver look at him with naked hunger. His voice was low and he felt the shiver that went through Silver when he said those words. 

Silver bit his lip. “I don’t believe you.”

Flint gripped Silver harder. “Do you think I let just anyone have me like this? Do you think anyone else _could_ have me like this?” He pushed back and tightened around Silver. “I need _you_. It’s only you.”

Silver swallowed and pulled him up off the bed until they were both kneeling. He wrapped his right hand under Flint’s arm and around his shoulder and his left around the middle of Flint’s body. Flint spread his thighs wide and braced them with one hand on the wall in front of them as Silver fucked him with slow, deliberate thrusts, likely just to drive him mad. But Silver’s left hand also slid down his stomach and wrapped around his cock, stroking him back to full hardness. 

Flint jerked back and forth, quickly losing himself to pain and pleasure, and the grip Silver had on him. It was all he needed. No more thoughts. No more emotions. Just sensations. No more Flint. No more anything. Just Silver deep in him, biting the back of his neck, clinging to him possessively, moaning garbled words that sounded very much like, “fuck,” and “mine.”

Flint spilled over Silver’s fingers and shook, and felt Silver shudder with him. Lost, needy sounds were muffled in the back of Flint’s shoulder and made him think that Silver was also falling apart. 

Flint sagged down onto the mattress and took Silver with him. He made a soft, displeased noise when Silver slipped out of him, but Silver remained half covering him. And there was too much quiet warmth for Flint to care anymore. He felt crashed upon rocks and wrecked, but pleasantly satisfied. For now, there was nothing more he wanted and nothing else that mattered.

Sleep came to him quickly, and even when he woke briefly in the middle of the night, all it took was pulling Silver into his arms and holding him close for Flint to drift back into unconsciousness


	12. Stone Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver makes a request, Dufresne is bitter, and Flint cares what people think.
> 
> [set during 204]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *They got all fluffy, idek. Too much angst and tragedy. And it's their last chance for it so here, have some lovey SilverFlint. 
> 
> *Flashback features some James/Miranda and his struggles with his sexuality.
> 
> *At the end, Silver is quoting Romeo and Juliet, Flint quotes Henry V.

There was no hint of sun yet, but he could see it in his mind. Land bathed in light and soft breezes, everything mossy green instead of endless blue. The air was sweetly fragrant, nothing like Nassau or even London. The town was quiet, made of plantation houses and stretches of farmland growing rice, cotton, indigo, and the oranges that he so loved. 

There was a small house with only a few rooms, but the house was filled with books and smelled of roasted meat and vegetables, a meal made by someone who knew cooking far better than he did. There would be orange trees in the yard and a real bed upstairs because he never had to sleep in a hammock ever again. He’d share that bed and sleep with strong, muscular arms around him. He’d never be alone. 

For a few seconds, it was vivid in his mind. Everything from the presence of trees, the smell of the dinner, the books, the moss, the peaceful quiet, the man who held him, protected him. Loved him. 

The images slipped away with his sleep. They were distant and out of his grasp. Just a faded dream. A wistful, too hopeful wish. 

But the arms around him when he woke were real, and Silver nestled closer. 

He kissed the freckled skin nearest his lips, a spot below collarbone, and fingers rubbed against his scalp. He made a sleepy, needy hum and attempted to turn his hazy focus on his captain. Flint was disheveled and lovely with a renewed serenity about him. 

Silver could have guessed that Flint was used to denying himself and never having what he wanted, but he hadn’t imagined the extent of the need he’d found. And for once, there didn’t seem to be anger or despair in those pale green eyes.

“Morning,” Flint said quietly. 

Silver scrunched his face and made a displeased sound. “Not yet.”

Flint let out a short huff and smiled just a little. “All right.” That smile reached his pretty eyes, and Silver’s heart skipped beats. Flint was more content, more vivid, more open and bare, and it left Silver breathless with how gorgeous he was.

He pulled Flint to him and kissed him, a slow, sweet press of their lips that made him giddy when Flint held on tightly. Silver stroked Flint’s chest and caressed the soft ginger hair there. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” Flint gave him half a smirk. “But in a good way.”

Silver beamed. Just the idea of fucking Flint and making his captain submit to him was thrilling, but the reality of it was so much more complex and satisfying. He could almost believe it was real. That Flint could be his. That there was someone who would miss him if he were absent. That someone might care if he lived or died. That maybe there could be a place where he belonged. “Are you going to hurry off somewhere? Or will you stay a while longer?”

Fingers threaded through his curls, bringing flutters to Silver’s heartbeat. Flint’s voice was soft, barely audible, but it poured through him with impossible gentleness. “How would you like to pass this time?”

Silver drew Flint into a kiss that stayed with him as if it could erase everything in the world but them. “I want you,” he ran his hands over Flint’s shoulders and had to pull him closer. “I want you to…” What was it he wanted? He didn’t have words. He wanted this, more of this warmth and sweetness, something unhurried that felt joyous and peaceful and took over everything else. He wanted Flint to look at him with that open lightness. He wanted Flint to look at him, touch him, kiss him like he meant something. Silver didn’t know what to call that.

Flint laughed lightly. “After all the filthy things that have left your mouth,” he smiled and seemed younger than Silver had ever seen him. “Don’t tell me you’re proper now.”

It was so unlike Flint but it felt more real than anything else Silver knew of him. He was clearly too wishful and foggy with sleep and lazy lust. Did he want Flint to be like this? Indulgent, tender, exposed, beautiful, and conceivably happy? If he had no walls around him, no defenses in place, nothing guarding him, was this the man who Flint really was? Was he both this and the terrifying persona the world knew? How could Silver find it when everyone else only saw the cruel, violent pirate king? He was clever and paid closer attention, but surely someone had to have known Flint as something other than a captain. Was this who Flint had been before? 

Silver shook his head but gave Flint a smile. “No.” He stroked Flint’s neck and left it at, “I just want you.”

Flint’s arm tightened around Silver’s middle and drew Silver underneath his warmth. They’d been close before. He knew how it felt to have nothing between their bodies, to feel only soft skin and ginger hair touching him. But now he was surrounded by it. The smell of leather and lingering saltwater, the radiant power emanating from Flint’s body, the full weight of him covering Silver and keeping him close. It was familiar; he knew all of this, but it was more than he’d ever had of it. Flint flooded through all of him, saturated his senses. There was nothing he could think or breathe or feel that wasn’t Flint. 

Especially when Flint kissed him. It was slow, lasting brushes of lips and beard against Silver’s mouth and it made fluttering heat ignite within him. Flint’s touch was light and reverent on Silver’s arms, down his neck, over his body, and Silver wasn’t sure that he’d ever known such gentleness. The other men he’d had were rough and selfish, the women were teasing and manipulative. Flint could be all those things, had been all those things, but he was this as well. Who would have expected kindness and consideration from him? Who could imagine Flint as this kind of lover? 

Silver arched into it, savoring how different it felt. He’d always loved a good fuck wherever he could get it. There were disappointments, but it was more or less all good enough for what it was. 

But Flint kissed him, aroused everything in him, carefully stretched him, and cradled him after he’d slid inside and they were joined with heat and longing and that overwhelming gentleness. Nothing was this good. Nothing was like Flint. 

They unhurriedly rocked together, enjoying the simmering, rapturous ache they built with each other. Flint held him closer than they’d ever been and slid deeper into him with every push of his hips. Silver had never had time to savor it like this, where he felt every leisurely inch of every thrust, where he took someone deep just to have them and keep them. 

Wet kisses were scattered on Silver’s jaw and neck as Flint moved inside him. Flint’s right hand curled around the back of Silver’s neck, tangled through his hair, while Flint’s left arm kept them close together, joined together, as if they had days to stay connected like this. It was safety, comfort, reassurance; he’d never be harmed, he’d always be cared for and consoled. It was something he’d always want to return to. Something that sated every hunger he’d ever had. 

He could feel every single movement Flint made. No matter how slight. The hitches in his breath that caused sudden jerks in his chest. The way the muscles in his stomach tightened when he was inside Silver as deeply as possible. The tension in his hands before his fingers dug into Silver’s flesh. The flutters of hot breath ghosting over Silver’s skin. The way Flint’s thumb would rub Silver’s temple as if it was there to be soothing. The soft touch of lips over the still slightly bruised and tender skin around Silver’s eye.

Flint touched him as if he were valuable. His gaze met Silver's and held it for long moments, and Silver desperately wanted to know what was on his mind. Most of the time, Flint’s thoughts made him appear endless miles away. But not now. He was focused, intent, as if for this one moment, Silver was all that existed for him.

Was he watching how pleasure looked on Silver’s face? Gauging his reactions? Reveling in how this felt or what he could make Silver feel? What did this make him think of? Flint pressed into him as if he knew exactly how to give Silver what he loved and needed even if Silver couldn’t name what those things were. He held on, clutching Flint to him, terrified of ever letting him go. 

He didn’t know how long it lasted. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes. It didn’t feel like frantically clawing at release. They weren't fucking just to reach that endpoint. He didn’t even need Flint to reach between them and touch him. It happened unexpectedly just from how much Flint gave him. 

It was a harder, deeper, more destructive and blindingly perfect release. He’d never felt anything like it. He’d never been able to come like that. No one had ever fucked him for so long that just that alone was enough. He was wrecked, lost, falling, but Flint held him. Flint kept him together. 

Neither of them moved once they were shuddering and washed in bliss. They stayed together, melted into each other. He felt the way Flint’s breath evened and slowed, ribs expanding against Silver’s thighs; his own breath fell into a counter rhythm. Their skin was overheated, flushed and sweaty, and it made them stick together. There was a heartbeat in his ears, in his head, thumping in his body, but he couldn’t tell if it was truly his own or if it was Flint’s. His body ached from being stretched and weighed down and bent like this for so long. But the idea of moving seemed unbearable. Flint brushed away the damp curls that had fallen into Silver’s eyes and kissed him sweetly, lazily, without Silver even asking him to. 

He’d never been given anything like this. It felt so fragile and unsteady, but it just made him want to keep it and protect it even more. What was Flint doing to him? He watched Flint’s eyes and couldn’t read him. Why couldn’t he see? What did Flint think of him? Did he feel anything? Did Silver mean anything to him? Why did he feel so lost? And so afraid of letting go? 

“I’ll be expected on deck shortly,” Flint said and it sounded like reluctance. 

There would be a meeting later with Hornigold. They were going to discuss how to retake the fort. They needed to deal with this quickly so that they could return for the gold and finally earn Silver his prize. He gave a small nod. “Am I welcome at this morning’s tactical conference?”

Flint looked at him with furrowed brow. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

Because he had no rank or position on the crew besides cook’s assistant and the daily gossip monger. He was nonessential. Unimportant. He had no defined role and there was no reason anyone should want him there. Or allow him there. But he was fucking the captain and obviously that earned him privileges. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“I have a feeling that if I told you not to be there, you'd simply listen outside the door.”

“Possibly.” He couldn’t stand being left in the dark. He couldn’t stand feeling so uncertain and confused. What did all of it mean? Was Flint simply indulging him out of respect for their indefinite partnership? What was the role Flint saw Silver playing here? What would happen once they had their gold? 

Flint leaned down and kissed him, and it was a sudden flare of warmth that drowned any thoughts. “Do you need anything before I go?”

His insides were ripped to pieces and he didn’t want Flint to go at all. He wanted to take this ship, get their treasure, and find someplace peaceful and green where he and Flint never had to bother with anyone or anything else. They could just be together. Living a comfortable, quiet life. That was all he needed, but Silver shook his head. “You gave me what I wanted.”

Flint kissed him once more, a long, fervent kiss that felt like bleeding out, and then he pulled away and moved from the bed. He didn’t immediately rush to dress — he walked to the cupboards and uncovered a basin of water and cloths for washing. He cleaned himself and then rinsed the rag and brought it to Silver. 

He didn’t lean down for another kiss, but their fingers brushed over each other in a way that felt almost as intimate. Flint dressed, smoothed and retied his hair, and looked back at Silver before leaving the cabin. 

Piece by piece, his wall was rebuilt. The sharp anger began to cast shadows on his features. A forlorn weariness returned to his eyes. One second, he was tousled, smiling, and shining, and the next he was disappearing behind terrorism and severity. 

Flint was shutting the whole world out. Could Silver ever render that fortress around Flint useless rubble or would he always be stuck on the outside? Would it always feel like a hushed secret slipping through his fingers? Would it always make him hopelessly desperate when he felt it falling from his grasp?

What was happening to him? No one in his life had kissed him and held him and made him feel the way Flint did. There was no reason or sense behind it, and he couldn’t understand how or why, but it still felt like truth. He had to be losing his mind.

The captain’s cabin was empty when he arrived, it was early still, the meeting wouldn’t be for a while, and Flint was likely waiting for the others to arrive. Silver claimed the spot beside the windows where he could watch the sunrise. It was something hopeful — a fresh start and maybe something to clear his head. 

Though he couldn’t help but remember the previous morning where he’d met Flint and ended up riding him in this very spot. How was anyone that good at fucking? Even the surplus of whores he’d been given to didn’t feel as incredible as having Flint and all of his power and attention focused on Silver. 

Which didn’t make any sense. Those women were professionals. They knew exactly how to make someone come harder than they ever had in their life. They were masters in giving people exactly what they needed. One man, one person couldn’t compete with all of that. Not when Silver hadn’t even known how many hands and mouths were on him. They’d teased him and sucked every sensitive spot on his body. They’d fucked him with fingers and thick toys as they took turns riding him. He’d been completely satisfied and exhausted when they finished with him and left to find other customers. 

None of them stayed. Except Max but she hadn’t remained in bed with him. And he couldn’t remember if she’d touched him or taken him at all. She seemed to keep her distance and let the other girls have at him. None of them held him after he came. A couple kissed him on the mouth during but it was brief and didn’t make his insides ignite and flutter the way it did when Flint kissed him. 

At the sound of footsteps and the cabin door opening, Silver’s heart jumped. As if seeing Flint in his own cabin would be something astonishing or extraordinary. 

But it wasn’t Flint who appeared in the doorway. 

The quartermaster’s eyes narrowed when they settled on Silver. “I had hoped to find you fulfilling your commitments to this crew. Though it’s hardly surprising to see you’re neglectful and self-serving. Do you concern yourself at all with the responsibilities you have on this ship?”

Since when was he even part of the crew? He was their entertainment. It wasn’t the same. What responsibilities were there besides the tasks Flint had for him? He’d answer with those questions, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was argue with Dufresne. “Is there something you’d like me to be doing, Mr. Quartermaster?”

“When we agreed to let you remain with the crew, we did so because you swore you’d look after Randall. The only reason you weren’t hanged for thievery was due to this arrangement. And yet you disappear for hours at a time. For whole nights. You completely disregard his care for your own selfish, narcissistic gratification.” 

More often than not, Randall insisted Silver leave him be. He didn't want the help that people seemed to think he needed. No one wanted to believe it when Silver argued that however. It was easier to blame Silver for being negligent. “I wasn’t aware that arrangement was still in effect. We found the Urca and its gold, we stole this ship, Randall is fond of me, and the rest of it no longer matters.” 

“Every man here has a job. I suggest you fulfill yours and keep out of business that doesn’t concern you. This,” Dufresne gestured around the room where the captains, quartermasters, and vanguard would be meeting. “Doesn’t concern you. There’s nothing you can conceivably contribute. Leave here immediately.” The timbre of his voice grew sharper, harder, colored with anger and impatience.

Silver bit his lip and didn’t want to invoke the word of their captain simply to attend this meeting, but he supposed Dufresne should know. When he didn’t comply with Dufresne’s order, it would be clear enough whose authority Silver respected. Delicately, Silver told him, “Flint said I was welcome.”

It made Dufresne’s gaze turn darker, his face twisted in disgust, his stance as he walked toward Silver barely restrained. “You may have bewitched the captain, but I have far more sway with the crew. We decided not to hang you once — that could easily change when they learn how irresponsible and insubordinate you are.”

Silver’s pulse sped, his instinct to run or defend himself instantly ringing in his ears. “Has Randall complained to you? Or asked to find me so that I might help him? Or does he scream and grow angry when people fuss over him?”

Dufresne’s jaw visibly tightened because he knew the truthful answer. 

Silver stood taller, strong in his pose, and hopefully, it would make Dufresne back down or at least leave him be. “You can make all the excuses you want. I’m part of this crew, and I won’t be driven away because you can’t handle the fact that the captain listens to me.”

Dufresne spoke like a warning, like a pistol held to Silver’s head. “There is more than one way to rid this crew of you. If you’re confident in your persuasive abilities, the captain might protest. But whores are easily replaced. They’re tools to be used and discarded. I don't believe you need to be reminded a second time that there is a woman in Nassau the captain regards as his wife. You may think you’ve earned your way here, but that’s the only role you have. You’re effectively nothing. You’re not even the cook. You’re the captain’s whore.”

Silver couldn’t swallow. A blade was twisted through his heart. Even Dufresne knew he was nothing. And Silver couldn’t argue. There was nothing in Dufresne’s words that was wrong. Whatever Silver imagined, longed for, wished for would never come true. 

Flint was favoring him now because of their alliance. Or whatever someone called the odd, sexually charged partnership they’d forged. This was exactly what Silver had wanted. He wanted Flint to trust him. He wanted Flint to be open with him. But Silver couldn’t remember the original reason he’d wanted those things. It seemed so far from where they were now. 

How could Flint see him as anything more than a good fuck or a pleasant distraction? Silver had no role here. Not even the semblance of permanence. He didn’t matter. He almost mattered but that in and of itself was infuriating.

It had to change. He needed more. He had to be important. But how could he be? Whatever had been crafted between him and Flint was fleeting, needy, and purely physical. A surrender to blinding attraction. An association formed out of a compulsion for treasure. 

Whatever he knew of Flint was clouded by how he was drawn to him. Silver had visions of running away together, always waking in his arms, having something lasting when nothing in this world lasted, and he’d seen perhaps better than anyone how duplicitous Flint truly was. He showed the world one face while secretly using another. What could possibly make Silver believe that the sweet, gentle lover he’d caught glimpses of was real? It was a ploy. It was meant to trick him. Flint was manipulating him, and Silver had so wanted to believe there was something more that he’d utterly fallen for it. 

How had he come to want Flint so badly? What was wrong with him? He wasn’t the one who bought trickery. He was the supreme vendor. This was his game. Flint wouldn’t win. No matter how good he felt and how incredible it was when they fucked. Silver didn’t need any of that. 

It hurt far too much anyway. He was too vulnerable and too ripped apart. He needed to retain his rational objectivity. Whatever he might have felt, it couldn’t exist any longer. If he didn’t turn to Flint when he wanted to fuck, then there wouldn’t be any problems. Flint had been insistent on minimizing their inclinations toward sexual activity in the beginning; it was pragmatic and he couldn't imagine that Flint would disagree with it now. Not with how hard Silver had had to work in order to earn what he had received. Flint might be irritated that Silver wasn’t falling for his tricks, but once he had the gold, that wouldn’t concern him in the least. He could do this. It was reasonable.

He’d lost control of what he wanted. He was losing sight of his goal. From the way Flint was engrossed in the occupation of the fort and no longer single-mindedly driven for the gold, he had to wonder if Flint was losing sight as well. Whatever the reasons for it, the outcome was the same. They could very easily miss their chance of obtaining that gold. What truly mattered but Silver’s freedom? 

The ground beneath his feet was sand and water, always changing, always leaving him with nothing, and he wanted something stronger to stand on.

The doors to the cabin opened and Flint was there. Dufresne stepped away from Silver as if he was suddenly afraid of the spiteful things he’d said. Hornigold and the others filed in close behind their captain, but Flint glanced between Silver and Dufresne and gave Dufresne a look that made his quartermaster wither and shrink into the background. 

When his gaze turned to Silver, it was full of concern. Even now, even here there was that unusual softness to it, and it wrenched the blade in Silver’s heart even further. Feigned care was even worse than no care at all. Silver returned to the window seat where he was out of the way, silent, seemingly uninterested. No one paid any attention to his presence. With one exception. 

For several long minutes, well into Hornigold’s briefing, Flint did nothing but watch Silver. The gaze was on him like a touch, one that felt considerate and worried, gentle in the same way that the sex between them had been that morning. 

It made Silver long for Flint’s arms around him even though that wouldn’t help anything. It would make all of it worse. Dufresne was bitter Flint had taken his captaincy and that Silver had taken his crew. Of course he would lash out. No matter how it felt in the moment, it was inconsequential. Even if Dufresne was right. It didn't matter. Silver just needed that gold and then he could be free. 

He caught Flint’s gaze and gave him a lighthearted smile. Though Flint still seemed as if he was ready to throw out everyone else so that he could find out what had happened, he stepped back and stood at a side window, turning distant and pensive as he stared out toward Nassau. When he did speak, it was with concern toward how the fort would be damaged, how long it would take to rebuild. 

The destruction of the fort would mean Flint’s home was without defenses. The more agitated he grew at the idea, the more his fingers toyed with the thick, ginger hair at his chin. He’d spoken so passionately to the men about removing Vane from the fort, and now when faced with strategizing and the power to actually do so, he was reticent.

The Flint that people spoke of would be ruthless in his destruction. He’d have no care for casualties or consequences. He would be speaking the way Hornigold was — on how there was no limit to the damage they could inflict, on how loss of life from the men who followed them was a mere inconvenience. 

The stories about Flint made him wicked and all-powerful. He could control the weather and the sea, he was bathed in the blood of infants to ensure victory, he had his heart torn out so that he could murder without remorse, he murdered his parents and every member of his family, he’d faced sea monsters and killed them with bare hands, he consumed the flesh of the people he murdered to absorb their power, he was an agent of the Devil himself sent to destroy the world. He had no soul, no heart; he was evil and unrepentant. 

When Silver had found him with a dead Gates in his arms, he was anything but unrepentant. His tears had no audience; they were real pain. He could be vicious and brutal, but the way his captain reacted wasn’t without thought or care. He was worried about Nassau and the cost of breaking down its defenses. 

Maybe what Silver had seen of him behind closed doors wasn’t as far from the truth as he’d thought. What if the way Flint treated him was real? 

He couldn’t think like that. Even if it was true. He needed to be objective. He needed to not be so caught up in desire and lust and loneliness. It had never been an issue before — it shouldn’t be one now. He couldn’t be nothing any longer. He couldn’t. It made him unable to even see clearly, he was so fixated on wanting. Whatever he felt, he couldn’t let it affect him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her lips were soft, sweet like hope and a day with only sunshine, and she kissed him like she was hungry.

She felt like hope. As if maybe the world wasn’t as bleak as it seemed. Could there be something right in him after all? Could everything have felt wrong and horrible and unsettling because he’d been waiting for her? 

She was clever, kind, bold in a way he couldn’t help but admiring. The people he’d known who were as wealthy and influential as the Hamiltons were also parsimonious and willfully blind to anyone they saw as beneath them. But she was gracious and generous like her husband. If there was anyone in the world he wished he could be more like, it would be her. 

When she climbed on him and kissed him hard, holding his face in her hands, he wanted so badly for this to be the missing clue that would lead to the mystery finally being unravelled. He had to want her. How could he not want her? If he could want her, then there wouldn’t be so many things wrong with him. It would explain why he never felt the way he should — God just wanted him to find her. 

She smelled flowery and delicate, evoking lavender and rosemary, indigo ink, and freshly printed books. If he breathed her in, he was back in Thomas’ study, drinking tea and discussing everything until the early hours of the morning. It was safety and serenity. The gentle warmth of a fire, the light of candles on Thomas’ face, the laughter and smiles that he gave James. 

It was happiness. She smelled like happiness and he returned her kisses before he felt her hands stroking low on his body. It made knots tangle in his stomach. What was he doing? Miranda loved her husband, he knew she did — he’d seen it in the way they looked at each other. He’d seen it in the way they held each other, touched each other, clasped hands, bestowed sweet and chaste kisses, traded secret smiles, and regarded each other as if they were the only two things that mattered in the entire world. 

It made him ache and wish he could have even a margin of love like that. He would never dream of damaging or disrespecting that love. She didn’t love him and she wouldn’t love him, and he didn’t want her to. 

He knew what she’d said. They weren't bothered by rumors of infidelity. But this wasn't a rumor. Would Thomas see this as a betrayal? Would it ruin that image of happiness that James had? Where he finally had a companion who would talk with him, spend time with him, work with him and never once make James feel inferior or unworthy? He never managed to have close friends, real friends before. He couldn’t bear the thought of Thomas hating him. Even if it meant James remained forever lost and alone and wrong. He already felt like an aberration. There was something wrong with him. There were so many things wrong with him. 

Miranda touched his chest with gentle, soothing hands. “He won’t be angry with you,” she said as if she could read his thoughts. “He’d be pleased you’re taking care of me.”

He held her carefully, as if she were fragile even though he knew she was far from it. His heart pounded too quickly, in a way that made him uneasy and nervous. He didn’t stop her when her fingers found their way under his clothes. He needed this to work. He needed her. 

He knew what it felt like. He’d been taken to a brothel when he was about twenty because his shipmates were appalled that he’d never had anyone before then. He was a man of the sea — having a woman in every port was one of the boons of the life. He should take full advantage. 

James had been terrified. The woman was considerate. She was careful with him and told him to close his eyes and fantasize and enjoy how it felt. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole experience. From the way men talked, it didn’t seem as if lovemaking should be a chore. But that was the closest description he had for it. It wasn’t that pleasant; it was more disquieting. Even when he didn’t do much of anything. He was never overtaken by want or need. And he tried as hard as he could. His thoughts were too loud. His fear was too great. He didn’t feel what he was supposed to feel. Why couldn’t he enjoy sex? Why couldn’t he be like any other man? Why was everything wrong with him?

There were other things he’d done. Filthy, secret, terrible things that he knew were wrong and sinful and punishable by hanging. But it was never women who made heat flood through him. It happened when he watched the other sailors take off their uniforms and go bare-chested in the sun and spray of the sea, when he watched them spar and wrestle with each other, when one of them pressed so very close to him, enough that he could feel the heat of the other man’s body as he spoke in a low chuckle into James’ ear. It happened when Thomas rested a hand on his arm or his back or his shoulder and smiled brighter than anything. 

As long as no one knew and he made sure it was only when they were far from any port, it was reasonable to indulge. Just a little. Enough so that he wasn’t alone and isolated and dying for someone’s touch. When the rest of the men had no other options and were longing for release, it wasn’t too difficult to find someone willing to touch him. Though he couldn’t say the few encounters he’d had with shipmates were all that satisfying either. 

But Miranda was different. She had to be. He admired her, adored her, longed to be her. If he could love any woman, it would have to be her. She was brilliant and unashamed and he did enjoy her company almost as much as he enjoyed her husband’s company. He would never ask to be her husband, but if he could love her and make her and Thomas happy, that was all James would ever need. 

She fussed with the clothes between them and kissed him fiercely as she took him in the carriage. He closed his eyes just as he’d done his first time, breathed in the scent lingering on her skin, on her rich clothes, in her perfect hair, and other thoughts filtered through his mind. Locks of short blond hair, sweet pink lips, a tall muscular body, and piercing sky blue eyes. 

He wasn’t supposed to think of him. He shouldn’t. This was sin enough to condemn him, even if both Hamiltons were unbothered by it. He had to think of her. He could care for her. He could be happy with her. 

He was too nervous. It was natural, she told him. He couldn’t maintain or finish, and begged her to forgive him. He had her guide him so that he could touch her until she was shuddering and happy in his arms, but his insides were wrenched and there was a lump in his throat and fear flooding his heart. 

She took him home and led him to her bedroom so they could try again. He had to make it work. He had to figure this out. He had to make her happy. He had to make Thomas happy. He could do this. It wasn’t a chore — he was simply inexperienced and reserved, but he gave it everything he had. He kissed her the way he wanted to be kissed and held her the way he longed to be held. It didn’t matter what thoughts came to him as long as he kept going and ended up pleasing her. 

Whatever was meant to bring him heat and pleasure still eluded him. She was brilliant and lovely and kind and wonderful, and if he closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck, in the smell of books and ink and garden herbs, and thought of someone else beneath him, then he almost felt as if he could enjoy this. 

But in the end, it was still a fantasy. He’d never be loved the way he wanted. He’d never have someone he actually wanted to make love with. His mind kept straying to his inspiring, bright, beautiful friend. He’d never be able to look Thomas in the eyes again. His repulsive thoughts and feelings had poisoned everything and he needed them to be taken away. Thomas and Miranda were the only real friends he’d ever had. How could he ruin that? How could he be foolish enough to let her close and risk that she might learn his darkest secrets? 

He lay next to her when it was over, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his heart thundered even long after they’d finished. It never slowed. He was too frightened. 

He remembered her earlier words — that the life he’d chosen was one where he could leave any permanence or sense of identity behind — and knew they were true. What identity did he have that wasn’t something to be ashamed of? He was worthless, uncivilized, abhorrent. He was a monster, and that would never change. 

She held his hand and kissed the back of it, and tried to reassure him, but all he knew was that he’d failed. He was terrible at making love and she must be disappointed and sadly unsatisfied. Would Thomas be disappointed with him as well? Would they both hate him now? 

He couldn’t bear the humiliation and hurriedly left her bed, left their house, the only place that had ever felt welcoming and safe and like a home. He was certain he’d never be welcome there again. When he returned to his room, he couldn’t hold the pieces of his heart together any longer. Who could marry him or love him or want him or want to share a life with him if he wasn’t able to offer love and desire in return? His heart shattered and he wept at the love he’d lost and the love he’d never have. 

At some point, he had to accept it. He had always known he was wrong and different and not what he should be. He had to make his heart stone so that he would never feel anything, so that it could never be broken.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

While Flint spoke to Eleanor alone, the men gathered on deck and continued their discussion about retaking the fort. And whether or not using the warship was necessary with an added debate on what Flint would decide and what they’d do if he made the “wrong” decision.

Silver was more interested in what had caused Flint’s anger to flare and send everyone from the cabin. But that was far too personal of a concern. It wasn’t Flint’s anger that affected him and made him curious. Silver wasn’t protective. It would be beneficial to know what Vane’s response was so that he could anticipate everyone’s reaction and handle his captain’s distress. Although handle was probably not the best word choice and he shouldn’t care if Flint was distressed or not. 

It would help Silver to know what the fuck was going on for his own sake, so thankfully, when he caught Logan’s gaze, Logan was able to relay the essence of Vane’s message. Flint was the madman on the water, the threat to Nassau with his massive warship, and people were siding with Vane. 

When he thought about it, Silver wasn’t sure how anyone expected a different response. All of this was a waste of time anyway and he doubted it would deter someone like Captain Vane. He’d gotten close enough to him to know that dealing with that man would result in nothing reasonable. 

It seemed a wiser decision for people to side with Vane after the fort was possibly destroyed and not before. Otherwise they were standing in front of the warship’s cannons waiting to be shot and that hardly helped Vane or anyone else. But Silver thanked Logan and returned to wondering what had made Flint angrily send everyone from the room. No, he was wishing they would just forget this whole business and go back for the Urca already. Nothing else mattered. 

Once Eleanor had left the cabin, she came straight for him with a message. “He wants to see you. Before anyone else.”

Silver breathed deeply, taking in as much fresh air as possible before he dove in. Nothing was wrong. Business as usual. Only the gold was important. Rational thought was paramount. The only person he cared about was himself. 

Flint was seated in his chair, still toying with the thick hair on his chin. Agitation had carved lines onto his face and he didn’t look to Silver even when Silver stood in front of him. Though with the desk between them. Distance was necessary for objectivity. But the way Flint appeared lost at sea with nothing to hold onto tugged at Silver’s insides. If only he could ease that sorrow and bring back that glowing smile Flint had worn that morning. 

That was not what he wanted. It wasn’t possible. Silver didn’t have the power to change anything. He meant nothing. “You asked for me?”

Flint’s gaze remained distant, thoughts whirling so rapidly that Silver could practically see them. There was tension in his shoulders and a storm in his eyes. But Flint breathed slowly and didn’t answer, even when he finally looked up at Silver. 

He was upset. Wounded somehow. And his gaze wandered, lost without a compass. There was something he wanted to say, perhaps something he wanted to ask. Silver could feel the heaviness of it, the way it was digging into Flint, and no matter what logic or reason said, he wanted to ease that burden. He wanted to walk around to the other side of the desk and offer reassurance. He wanted to hold Flint in his arms and kiss him until he was soothed and refocused. And without the foolish, affectionate bit, the plan was practical. Offering reassurance kept Silver on Flint’s good side. “What’s wrong?”

Flint let his hand drop from his chin. “What did Mr. Dufresne say to you?”

Silver swallowed but tried to push the memory of it away forever. It couldn’t be what was truly bothering Flint, but he might as well get it out of the way. Dufresne had no power over him. Even if his words were true, they were marred by resentment, and Silver had to know better not to get caught up in pettiness. He smiled instead, something nonchalant and unbothered and hoped it appeared genuine. “Nothing of consequence. He’s bitter and jealous. It doesn’t matter.”

Flint studied him for a moment, the look in his eyes felt like straining and reaching but never grasping. Was he that intent on knowing more? Did it bother him that much? What was the thing that remained out of reach? 

Why did Silver want to help him reach it? It was stupid and foolish and reckless, but Silver wanted that connection, too. He had to be important somehow. He bit his lip and the question spilled out of his mouth. “You can fuck me but you can’t talk to me?”

Flint looked at him, held his gaze, made his mouth go dry, but still said nothing. 

Hornigold and company came through the doors and interrupted any chance of a different outcome. Silver returned to his window seat and tried not to feel rejected. What other outcome could there be? Unless he was giving a rousing speech, Flint wasn’t all that loquacious. It didn’t bother him. Just like Dufresne and his fucking stupid mouth. It didn’t matter. He just needed to last a little longer, and then he would have his gold and nothing else would matter. He was not going to concern himself with Flint or anyone else. Not any more.

The sudden question was surprising to say the least. He wanted Silver’s opinion. Maybe he had changed his mind and decided he wanted to talk. It was easy to discuss psychology and ship business, but it was something. 

Silver sat opposite him and answered, “I suppose one could argue that it’s simple fear. Their fear of losing the fort being greater than their fear of Vane remaining in it. But then again, it’s possible this has nothing to do with the fort. Nor with Vane. Perhaps it’s just them expressing their opinions about you.” It happened often enough, especially when someone was as prominent and infamous a figure as Captain Flint. Dufresne had done it to Silver that morning. Sometimes people had to let off steam. 

Flint’s gaze remained distant as it had been earlier. Lost in his thoughts. “So you think that they see me as the villain in this particular story?”

That was one way to put it. Most people did see Flint that way. Silver would have a never-ending reserve of stories about the notorious captain of the Walrus from just the few months that he’d known Flint. And none of them would include the personal accounts of what Silver had experienced with him alone. “I think that would explain their decision, yes.”

A softness came through Flint’s demeanor as if the wall between them was disappearing. Something that made him so close to the man Silver had woken up next to that morning. “And you?” He wore the hint of an almost smile. “What do you think? You see me as the villain here?” 

How could he answer? Why did Flint care? If Silver didn’t matter, then what difference would his answer make? Was Flint just seeking validation? He knew his own fearsome, bloodthirsty reputation; Silver had seen him use it to his advantage. Whatever he was after, Silver answered, “I see you as the agent most likely of securing my share of the gold on that beach.” It was the truth. Mostly. If this misuse of time didn’t last too long. “As long as that remains true, I am not bothered in the least by whatever labels anyone decides to affix to you.”

It couldn't be that much of a revelation, and yet Flint’s gaze fell again, shuttered against whatever thoughts still seemed to upset him. 

“Why?” Silver leaned closer and wanted so much to know what was tormenting him. Watching pain contort Flint’s face was twisting something inside Silver’s chest as well. He was reaching out, he was trying, but he was still too far away. “What do you think about it?”

“I’m sorry?” Flint was so deep into whatever was churning through him that he hardly responded to Silver at all. 

Was he that shocked by Vane’s message? Was the extent of his villainy something he was unaware of? Had he not heard the stories? Or was it the fact that the tales turned Flint into a heartless, vicious, monster the thing that hurt him? If Flint cared enough to ask Silver, if he cared about what he’d done to Gates, if he cared more about protecting Nassau than a squabble with Vane, perhaps he was tormented by the idea that others thought him evil and demonic. Maybe Silver had observed enough, and put aside enough, that he was finally seeing clearly. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? What they think.”

When Flint didn’t answer, Silver knew he was right. Flint cared what people thought of him. It seemed almost ridiculous. How could someone like Flint who was so savage and brutal, who survived by that story of how fearsome he was, be so tormented by the idea that people believed the face he showed to the world? 

“With the things you’ve done…” Silver could hardly comprehend. What was it like? To be so susceptible to how others saw you? It was hard enough when someone like Dufresne was so vicious and right and hit every insecurity he had, but if Silver hadn’t been able to dismiss him at all? “My god. It must be awful being you.”

Flint’s gaze turned cold. The wall was between them again and he seemed far more likely to keep Silver out forever than ever let him near again. “Time is short. You’d better be off.”

That wasn’t what he’d wanted. That wasn’t what he’d intended. Perhaps objectivity was not always beneficial. How much pain was Flint in? Why did he keep up with such a horrifying self image if it tortured him to do so? Why keep everyone out? Silver sighed and started to leave. There would be no point in arguing with Flint, not when Silver meant nothing and couldn’t possibly hope to have anything he longed for. 

But if Flint didn’t value him at least a little, he wouldn’t have hung so much on how Silver saw him. 

Silver stopped at the door and couldn’t decide if he wanted to walk through it or turn around. Flint kept everyone out because he was wounded and likely couldn’t bear any more pain. He couldn’t talk to Silver because he couldn’t talk to anyone. But he had tried. He’d been kind and gentle with Silver. Why would he feign that sort of care? Wouldn’t it be easier to use him and treat him selfishly? If he needed Silver’s help so badly, there were other ways to get it. Ones that didn’t leave Flint vulnerable. He’d given Silver everything he’d wanted and more than he could have imagined. 

Dufresne was cruel, and he was wrong. 

Silver shut the doors, walked back to Flint, and stood beside his chair. Nothing between them, nothing that Silver would keep hidden. “Just one thing,” he said and made sure Flint met his eyes. “Don’t listen to what anyone says. They don’t know you. They don’t understand your reasons or motives. They don’t know who you really are.” He swallowed hard and wished that he knew. A few scraps were hardly a meal, and he wanted the whole feast. “I’m not sure that anyone does.”

The anger on Flint’s face dissolved into something forlorn. But at least it wasn’t defensive. 

Silver bit his lip and wondered if he could pull Flint back from that sorrow. “No one is perfectly pure and good; no one is inherently, thoroughly evil. And how many people’s opinions truly matter? Doesn’t it count more from someone who knows you, even a little? Rather than from people who know nothing?” 

Flint was still silent, but he looked up at Silver like an accusation. Silver hadn’t answered directly and maybe Flint was now thinking that Silver saw him the way everyone else did. 

The idea that he’d hurt Flint made him lose his words. He used the only ones he could think of, “Villain and you be many miles asunder. I’m sure I only know a few tiny drops out of an entire sea, but I have to be a better authority on you than anyone else on that beach.” It was so hard to believe and so many aspects were still confusing and nonsensical, but he’d seen something from the beginning. Something that he was sure no one else realized. People were easily swayed by stories especially dark and twisted ones of wicked villains they should fear, but there was always more to it. 

Flint had a story. He had his reasons, and the man who spared him when he didn’t need to and trusted him when he was afraid to and kissed him, held him after they’d had sex, was someone who had goodness and gentleness inside him even if dark, brutality was there as well. 

Silver lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over Flint’s cheek. “It’s just a name,” he whispered and longed to lean down and kiss him. “Be some other name.”

For a moment, there was still no response from Flint but then he rested his hand on Silver’s hip and pulled him forward. A burst of joy bubbled in Silver’s chest and he took the invitation and sat for a moment on Flint’s lap where he could wrap his arms around Flint and remember the soft, enveloping, sweet warmth they’d shared that morning. 

Flint held him tightly and for a moment, let Silver’s forehead rest against his own. “Should I be concerned that you keep referencing a foolish, teenage tragedy?”

Silver shook his head. “No, I love his way of storytelling. That’s all.” Why that particular work made him think of Flint, he couldn’t say. He wouldn’t die for anyone. He wouldn’t even put himself in harms way for anyone. 

Flint’s glanced at a spot on Silver’s face below his nose and then looked back to his eyes. “You have witchcraft in your lips. There is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council.”

Silver gripped Flint and grinned. “Stop, I’ll want to fuck you and we don’t have time.”

Flint pulled him into a kiss that made him believe there was nothing else important. He was in so far over his head, but how could he want anything but this? “If you don’t return to the ship tonight, don’t go anywhere near the fort,” Flint said as he let go. 

“I have night’s cloak to hide me,” Silver winked and Flint rolled his eyes but for a brief shining second, he wore a smile. That was the image Silver would keep in mind. If they dealt with this quickly and obtained their treasure, that was something he was going to keep for good.


End file.
